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