I like sitting in Your arms tonight
Sitting with eyes wide open to the real word
I like drawing on Your fashionable rights
Anyway I know it’s better then say:
Old Mother Europe is so tired

And I say:
Old Mother Europe is quite tired

Bye,  bye Mother, I am flying so high
You’ve grown too old just trying to get younger
I like sitting in Your arms tonight
But there’s so cold I can’t stand Your growing older Mother

Old Mother Europe is so tired
And I say:
Old Mother Europe is quite tired

And Your baby’s games  and Your monster’s remains
And the crowd in Your doorways
Too delicious to make You happy too smart to be acquired
Set You free from hate that encourages me when [bad word] my own race
Really, mum, old Mother Europe is so tired

I like sitting in Your arms tonight
Sitting with eyes wide open to the real word
I like drawing on Your fashionable rights
Anyway I know it’s better then say:

Old Mother Europe is so tired
And I say:
Old Mother Europe is quite tired