At the corner of a small town,
there's an old post office.
Every evening,
an old man waits there,
always hoping.
He holds a yellowed letter in his hand,
waiting for news from afar.
Hope is all over the phone.
Wouldn't he cry?
For he's mumbled with a creepy tizzy-tizzy.
All night inside, he throws his promises.
Stood in a grey,
demonic spot,
all over the phone,
telling of those times.
In his youth,
he made a vow,
chasing dreams far away.
On his journey,
he met her along the way.
The angry promises under the same sun.
No matter how time flows,
his love remains the same.
All over the phone.
Wouldn't he cry?
For he's mumbled with a creepy tizzy-tizzy.
All night inside, he throws his promises.
Stood in a grey,
demonic spot,
all over the phone,
telling
of those times.
As the years pass,
time flies by at the post office door.
The old man still waits.
Every
evening, he looks into the distance.
His love like that letter has never changed.
All over
the phone.
Wouldn't he cry?
For he's mumbled with a creepy tizzy-tizzy.
All night inside, he throws his promises.
Stood in a grey,
demonic spot,
all over the phone,
telling of those times.
The final evening,
the letter finally came.
It brought her thoughts and their unfinished story.
A letter from afar,
ending the wait.
In the words of the letter,
their love never fades.
As the years pass,
time flies by at the post office door.
The old man still waits.
Every evening,
he looks into the distance.
His love like that letter has never changed.
All over the phone.