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I watch the sun come up while you're sleeping it off |
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When you go out for your news and curse your smoker's cough |
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I bring you bills to pay |
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And letters from the state |
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Then you go inside and I walk away |
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I'm the postman |
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I'm the postman |
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And I walk you street for hours like some kind of jerk |
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With my grey clip tie and my pressed blue shirt |
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And when you leave for work |
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I think you're turning to flirt |
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But you're turning away and it always hurts |
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I'm the Postman |
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I'm the Postman |
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I know why you stare East, it's where your man's run off |
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And I know why your trash bin is brimming with his art |
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'Cause when he was abroad |
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I read his last postcard |
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He met some brit named Cass and it broke your heart |
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I'm the postman |
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I'm the postman |
