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 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 Ca*s and it broke your heart I'm the postman I'm the postman