I watch the sun come up while you're sleeping it off

When you go out for your news and curse your smoker's cough

I bring you bills to pay

And letters from the state

Then you go inside and I walk away

I'm the postman

I'm the postman



And I walk you street for hours like some kind of jerk

With my grey clip tie and my pressed blue shirt

And when you leave for work

I think you're turning to flirt

But you're turning away and it always hurts

I'm the postman

I'm the postman



I know why you stare East, it's where your man's run off

And I know why your trash bin is brimming with his art

'Cause when he was abroad

I read his last postcard

He met some brit named Cass and it broke your heart

I'm the postman

I'm the postman