[00:14.300] Old friends, old friends,
[00:20.300] Sat on the parkbench like bookends
[00:24.300] A newspaper blown through the grass
[00:27.300] Falls on the round toes
[00:34.300]Of the high shoes of the old friends
[00:45.300] Old friends, winter companions, the old men
[00:51.300] Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunset
[00:58.300] The sound of the city sifting through trees
[01:06.300] Settles like dust on the shoulders of the old friends
[01:13.300] Can you imagine us years from today
[01:19.300]  Sharing a parkbench quietly
[01:23.300] How terrribly strange to be seventy
[01:35.300] Old friends, memory brushes the same years
[01:42.300] Sliently sharing the same fears.