He's a quiet sort
A nondescript little man
With a secret in his eye
And a hint of a smile

He carries a bag
An oversize messenger bag
It's filled up with letters
Letters to the dead

If you see him
Tip your hat
Say hello
But don't linger too long
Never know when
You might need a favor

But whence he came
And where he goes
I don't know
Oh I don't know

He's a solemn sort
With a subdued chuckle
He occasionally shares
With only himself

When he sneaks a peak
(Sometimes the dead are witty)
Just before he sets
A letter on a ...
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