Hai!

Oh mystical East, on old postcards,
Your childhood dreams and energies.
Your temples' gardens, old world charm,
An ancient culture, torn and scarred.

This is my Western promise.

Oh mystical East, you've lost your way,
Your rising sun shall rise again.
My Western world gives out her hand,
A victor's help to your fallen land.

This is my Western promise.

Hai!

All the boys are wearing blue tonight.
We'll thrive, we'll dive, how can we lose?
All the strangers walk like you tonight.
So tall, we fall for every move.

We'll laugh and talk,
Don't stop for breath,
In these our private lives.
We dance 'til dawn,
As they beat the drums,
For all our private lives.

Close your eyes and use the melody,
Who cares who stares under the light?

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.

I found the perfect picture, of a perfect stranger.
It looked as if, it were taken in the forties sometime,
Judging by the style.

He could be a killer or a blind man with a cane,
Perhaps he died in a car crash, years ago.
Right now, it's impossible to tell.

I almost thought I saw him, standing, whistling on a bridge.
I asked him the time, but when he turned around,

Instrumental