It has been some time. The answer my friend is blowing in the wind. And that's true too. The question I ask myself is: How many roads must a man walk down, before you can call him a man? Have I gone far enough at my age? Wasn't I looking for happiness, looking for love? And from crying too many that her tears are still peeling on her eyelids? And if they tremble a little, it's because they see the silver watch age who purrs in the living room, who says YES, who says NO, who says: "I'm waiting for you"?