Cymbaline - Pink Floyd

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 tube-train up your spine

Will the tightrope reach the end?

Will the final couplet rhyme?

And it’s high time, Cymbaline

High time, Cymbaline

Please wake me

Butterfly with broken wings has fallen 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

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 sides

And it’s high time, Cymbaline

High time, Cymbaline

Please wake me