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