Conor Oberst

Conor Oberst - Beach Bum/Postman Song

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All the peacock people left their plumes in a pile They looked good to a fault And the gulf water's warm like a bathtub Full of lavender and epsom salt Watch a bleach-blonde boy put his longboard down Help his girl get her sunscreen on And I thought about you in your tiny house Think you're lonely, but I could be wrong And, I wanna be a bootlegger, Wanna mix you up something strange Braid your hair like a sister, maybe like a hurricane Right there, that's the postman sleeping in the sand He's got my letters to deliver, but I'm still not mad Right there, that's the postman sleeping in the sand He's got a get well card to deliver, he's gonna do it by hand He's gonna do it by hand Now they drive their cars up and down the beach It's ridiculous and everybody knows Hear the Mustangs rev at the four-way stop You get ghosted when the light says go But in a town like this, in the checkered-flag dawn It's so empty you could make somebody dream So maybe it's you, in your four-post bed Sound asleep, but still grinding your teeth And, I wanna be your happiness I wanna be your common sense pane Wrap your head in a picket fence, we'll build after the hurricane Right there, that's the postman sleeping in the sand He's got my letters to deliver, but I can't stay mad Right there, that's the postman asleep in the sand He's got a get well card to deliver, he's gonna do it by hand He's gonna do it He's gonna do it He's gonna do it He's gonna do it He's gonna do it He's gonna do it by hand

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