Your letter, the table
I don't have to read it
I know what's inside it
It's all good news
You're laughing, you're singing
The mailman keeps bringing
More letters and tables than I can use
And he keeps telling me there's postage due
The kitchen, our daughter
The time when I caught her
Eating leaves and water
Under the sink
A carrot, my kettle
Some matches, some metal
Your letters, they settle inside of me
Maybe I'll save the stamps and make some tea