Cymbaline

The path you tread is narrow and the drop is shear and very high
The ravens all are watching from a vantage point near by Apprehension creeping like a choo-train up your spine
Will the tightrope reach the end; will the final cuplet rhyme
And it’s high time
Cymbaline
It’s high time
Cymbaline
Please wake me Butterfly with broken wings is falling by your side
The ravens all are closing in there’s no where you can hide
Your manager and agent are both busy on the phone
Selling colored photographs to magazines back home
And it’s high time
Cymbaline
It’s high time
Cymbaline
Please wake me The lines converging where you stand they must have moved the picture plane