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.