There is another man like me
The mailman and the morning moon
He follows up and down the streets
Unpaid bills and shiny magazines
Half-read and thrown away
And you can tell what house
He's at in the neighborhood
By the dogs growling at the doors
Reminding us that he persists
Somewhere out there delivering fate
In little envelopes and humming
To himself as if he himself
Had gathered all this knowledge
Of the world and left it at the gate
For us to sort through searching
Searching for that note from you
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