| They married in June one afternoon in a church down by their home
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| She wore the ring his mother gave him the day that he left home
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| They danced before their families and they held each other close
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| And on that lovely night in June, oh he loved her so
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| The war took him to Paris one year since they had wed
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| He packed envelopes and cigarettes ink and his fountain pen
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| He said I will send you letters each week that I am gone
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| And I promise you’ll feel better, when the postman comes
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| The months had past on slowly and his boots had lost their tread
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| But still he wrote his letters this week this one had said
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| You are always with me even when I feel alone
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| And this rifle bears a burden and its heavy on my soul
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| But you wont have to miss me as once this war is won
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| We will be together, when the postman comes
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| She opens the door to a man with a telegram
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| A sad look on his face
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| She wipes away a single tear and she hears him say
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| Something about the military apologies in the ministry
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| And she fell, to the floor
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| She questioned him said you’ve got this wrong
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| My husbands fast my husbands strong
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| And I promise you’ll know better, when the postman comes
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| If you’ve received this letter it means the worst has done
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| And I’m sorry and I love you this isn’t what I want
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| But you will find another and I will understand
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| I just hope he loves you more than any other can
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| I sent you all these letters and for reasons there’s just one
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| It is me you will remember. |
| when the postman comes
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| When the postman comes |