Years like days have flown away
Brief frames or trains in the tunnel
It's a greenhouse effect that melts happiness
Of our desires and our jeans, what will remain?
Of these cursed years in your eyes
Years pierced and distracted, we victims of ourselves
Now, however, it costs us not to love each other anymore
It's a hidden pain deep in the soul

What will remain of these eighties?
Grasped and already slipped away
What will remain?
And the radio sings a truth within a lie

Years dancing, dancing Reagan-Gorbachev
Hunger dances in the world, a tragic rondo
We are increasingly alone, single halves
Years in school books and then what will remain
Years of violent loves arguing in the streets
Always ready, you and I, for new geometries
Years empty like cans abandoned there
Now that we are at the end, we, of this eternity

What will remain of these eighties?
Who will take the photograph?
What will remain, oh?
And the radio sings
"Won't you break my heart?"
"Won't you break my heart?"

Rampant years of smiling windsurfing myths
They have already become graffiti and everyone thinks of themselves
Maybe tomorrow at this time I will never have existed
And the feelings you feel will go away like spray
Uh, oh no, no, no, no

Real years of advertising, but what will remain?
Cheerful and depressed years of madness and lucidity
They already seem like the eighties to us
Almost eighty years ago, whoa whoa, oh no

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