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Old friends, old friends
Sat on their park bench like bookends
A newspaper blown thru the grass
Falls on the round toes, on 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 sifting thru 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 70
Old Friends
Memory brushes the same years
Silently sharing the same fear
