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.
Chorus: 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.
(Chorus) 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.
(Chorus) Young Europeans.
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