together fall apart. And in Battersea power station, the fisher king. Ponders on his ruin, among many other things. He folds his broken hands, . Surveys his barren lands, . And prays for hope to whisper
. Move me. Move me. Move me. Move me. Move me. Baby, don't you prove me. Wrong this time. Wrong this time. Because you move me. Baby, don't you prove me. Wrong this time. Wrong this time. Wrong this t
