In a quiet street washed by the rain, the room within the home.
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A lonely man sits cheek to cheek, with unique designs in chrome.
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The mellow years have long gone by, but now he sits alone.
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He has a brand new radio, but never turns it on.
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Chorus:
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New Europeans.
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Young Europeans.
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New Europeans.
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A photograph of lovers lost, lies pressed in magazines.
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Her eyes belong to a thousand girls, she's the wife who's never seen.
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Their educated son has left, in search of borrowed dreams.
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His television's in his bed, he's frozen to the screen.
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(Chorus)
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On a crowded beach washed by the sun, he puts his headphones on.
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His modern world revolves around the synthesizer's song.
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Full of future thoughts and thrills, his senses slip away.
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He's a European legacy, a culture for today.
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(Chorus)
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Young Europeans.
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-----------------
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New Europeans
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| Ultravox |
