Pink Floyd:Cymbaline

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.
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.