"Old Friends" by Paul Simon

Old friends, old friends, 
Sat on their parkbench 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 sun 
The sounds of the city sifting through trees 
Settles like dust on the shoulders of the old friends.

Can you imagine us years from today, 
Sharing a parkbench quietly 
How terribly strange to be seventy

Old friends, memory brushes the same years, 
Silently sharing the same fears

Time it was and what a time it was,
A time of innocence,
A time of confidences,
Long ago it must be,
I have a photograph,
Preserve your memories,
Ther all thats left you...