Die beiden Möwen haben es mir angetan. Old Friends auf der Seebrücke. Mal schnacken sie miteinander, mal schweigen sie von sich weg. Aber sie sehen sich jeden Tag auf der Seebrücke. Old Friends eben.
Old friends, old friends,
Sat on their parkbench like bookends
A newspaper blown through 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 sun
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.
Simon & Garfunkel