Old friends

Old friends..
Old friends..
Sat on their park bench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
Of the high shoes
Of the old friends

Old friends..
Winter companions the old men
Lost in their overcoats waiting for the sunset
The sounds of the city is shifting through trees
Settle like dust
On the shoulders
Of the old friends

Can you imagine us years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange to be seventy...
Old friends
Memory brushes the same years
Silently sharing the same fears..

© Paul Simon and Paul Garfunkel