Old friends, old friends
Sat on their parkbench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the gra**
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 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...