Old friends,
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Old friends
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Sat on their park bench
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Like bookends.
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A newspaper blown through the grass
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Falls on the round toes
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On the high shoes
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Of the old friends.
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Old friends,
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Winter companions,
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The old men
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Lost in their overcoats,
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Waiting for the sunset.
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The sounds of the city,
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Sifting through the trees,
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Settle like dust
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On the shoulders
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Of the old friends.
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Can you imagine us
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Years from today,
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Sharing a park bench quietly?
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How terribly strange
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To be seventy.
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Old friends,
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Memory brushes the same years.
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Silently sharing the same fear....
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|
-----------------
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Old Friends/Bookends
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Simon & Garfunkel |