In a quiet street washed by the rain, the room within the home
A lonely man sits cheek to cheek, with unique designs in chrome
The mellow years have long gone by, but now he sits alone
He has a brand new radio, but never turns it on

New Europeans
Young Europeans
New Europeans

A photograph of lovers lost, lies pressed in magazines
Her eyes belong to a thousand girls, she's the wife who's never seen
Their educated son has left, in search of borrowed dreams
His television's in his bed, he's frozen to the screen

On a crowded beach washed by the sun, he puts his headphones on
His modern world revolves around the synthesizer's song
Full of future thoughts and thrills, his senses slip away
He's a European legacy, a culture for today

New Europeans
Young Europeans
New Europeans...