text: The path you tread is narrow and the drop is sheer and very high
  The ravens all are watching from a vantage point nearby
  Apprehension creeping like a tube-train up your spine
  Will the tightrope reach the end? Will the final couplet rhyme?
  And it’s high time, Cymbaline
  It’s high time, Cymbaline
  Please, wake me
  A butterfly with broken wings is falling by your side
  The ravens all are closing in, there’s nowhere you can hide
  Your manager and agent are both busy on the phone
  Selling coloured 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
  The leaves are heavy around your feet
  You hear the thunder of the train
  And suddenly it strikes you that they’re moving into range
  And Doctor Strange is always changing size
  And it’s high time! , Cymbaline
  It’s high time, Cymbaline
  Please, wake me
  And it’s high time, Cymbaline
  It’s high time, Cymbaline
  Please, wake me