A hymn for the postal service

Sobriety breeds sincerity
And Lydia Pond she is my gravity
I don't know how she felt when she took that 'E'
But in the morning she shaking, she was twitching, she was jerking

On June the 5th she moved to Paris
She could not stand the state of British politics
And I just can't convince her that I'm socialist
And every night I pray for mail in the morning

Sweet Lydia Pond is doing it for me
And I want to sing a hymn to the postal service
Sinful and proud since I stopped sleeping around
I am so faithful now to Lydia's handwriting

That makes me guess the circumstances under which she wrote it
Why she used the f-word when she never, ever spoke it?
She pasted on a passport photo of herself in pigtails
And underneath she'd written "did my touch make you less lonely?"

Oh, she promised me that we'd be creasing sheets
And that our bodies would be bruising, wrestling underneath
And I wanted to ask her how she cut her teeth
And how she let time slip through her skinny, skinny fingers

Sweet Lydia Pond is doing it for me
And I want to sing a hymn to the postal service
Sinful and proud since I stopped sleeping around
I am so faithful now to Lydia's handwriting

Sweet Lydia Pond is doing it for me
And I want to sing a hymn to the postal service
Sinful and proud since I stopped sleeping around
I am so faithful now to Lydia's handwriting

That makes me guess the circumstances under which she wrote it
Why she used the f-word when she never, ever spoke it?
She pasted on a passport photo of herself in pigtails
And underneath she'd written "did my touch make you less lonely?"
And underneath she'd written "did my touch make you less lonely?"