Cymbaline
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The path you tread is narrow And the drop is shear 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 A butterfly with broken wings And it's high time The lines converging where you stand And it's high time And it's high time |
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