On the museum island,nAt the end of the day,nWe had travelled for miles,nWe had come to escapenAll the space on the pagenThat the newspapers gavenUp to pictures and pictures of us.nAs we followed the coffinnOf your famous father.nAdjusting our skirtsnAs we turned at the altar.nAnd within every wordnThat they'd written, was spelt outnYou'd taken your last ever bus.nSo skimming the surfacenOf all your new money,nWe skimmed the surfacenOf the air as we flew.nWe were out of the rain,nWe were thinking that maybenBerlin was the place to renew.nnWell you know what they saynAbout terrible hate nIt will breed something goodnWhen it's through.nAt the end of the day,nBy the Potsdamer PlacenAnd the Brandenburg Gate,nIt was you.nnYou have hardened completelynBy the end of this story,nYou have learned to look clearnThrough the flash of a bulb,nWhen you hear your own namenFrom the back of a crowd,nYou just straighten your gaze,nNo you don't turn around.nOh but there was a timenAt the end of the day,nWe were both stood in linenAt the museum display,nAnd you outshone the lightnUnder which you were bathed,nYou could outshine the skynWith the look that you gave,nOh so don't be afraidnTo look back and wave,nNow that waving is all that you do.nAt the end of the day,nBy the Potsdamer Place,nI am waving back at you.nnSo don't be afraidnTo look back and wave,nNow that waving is all that you do.nAt the end of the day,nBy the Potsdamer Place,nI am waving back at you.