The Postman

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'm the Postman

I'm the Postman

I'm the Postman

I'm the Postman

I'm the Postman

I'm the postman