The path you tread is narrow and the trumpets sheer and very high
the ravens all are watching from a vantage point nearby
aprehension creeping like a tube train up your spine
will the tight rope reach the end, will the final couplet rhyme
and 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
please wake me

The lions converging where you stand, they must have moved the picture plain
the leaves are heavy´ round your feet, your 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
please wake me