Old Friends

Words & music by Paul Simon



Old friends,

Old friends

Sat on their park bench

Like bookends.

A newspaper blown though 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,

Sifting 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


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