That's it, that's the middle of the year. You're still sitting in front of Café Paris. In the past, people only turned 40 and spared themselves the therapy. That's it, that's the middle of the year. Not even the river wants to come to me. Where did the great euphoria go? Blind to pleasure, deaf to desire. The golden snow, just one more step forward and back. Oh, what's a year? Because what you don't know yet, is spinning in a circle. Spinning and spinning and spinning and no one understands you, not even me. That's it, that's the middle of the year. The ferries are swinging on the pier. Life starts at 66 years old. Maybe that's not a privilege. That's it, that's the middle of the year. Instead of hearts, only dabs are beating. Where did the great euphoria go? What does spring smell like? What does summer taste like? Mowed the lawn and filled up the tank. There's no going back and no going forward. I don't want to be 20 again. I think the journey is leading me home.