Cymbaline Pink Floyd
"Cymbaline" by Pink Floyd, released in 1969, is a #Rock song that explores themes of existential despair, longing, and the passage of time. The lyrics depict a sense of disillusionment and the search for meaning amidst life's complexities. Musically, it features haunting melodies, intricate guitar work, and atmospheric soundscapes, characteristic of the band's progressive rock style. The song's reflective nature and emotional depth have resonated with listeners, contributing to its lasting cultural impact within the psychedelic rock genre.
[Verse 1]
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?
[Chorus]
And it’s high time, Cymbaline
It’s high time, Cymbaline
Please, wake me
[Verse 2]
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
[Chorus]
And it’s high time, Cymbaline
It’s high time, Cymbaline
Please, wake me
[Verse 3]
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
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?
[Chorus]
And it’s high time, Cymbaline
It’s high time, Cymbaline
Please, wake me
[Verse 2]
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
[Chorus]
And it’s high time, Cymbaline
It’s high time, Cymbaline
Please, wake me
[Verse 3]
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
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