A Hymn For The Postal Service

[D]  [Em]  [F#m]  [G]  x4

So[D]briety[Em]  breeds sin[F#m]cerity,[G]
And [D]Lydia [Em]Pond she is my [F#m]gravity [G]
I don't know [D]how she [Em]felt when she [F#m]took that E,[G]
But in the [A]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.

[D]Sweet Lydia [A]Pond is [D]doing it for [A]me,
    [D]         [A]      [Em]  ([F#m] [G])  [A]
And I want to sing a hymn for the postal service.
Sinful and proud since I stopped sleeping around,
I am so faithful now to Lydia's handwriting,

Mid 8:
That [G]makes me guess the circumstances under which she wrote it,
[D]Why she used the f-word when she never, ever spoke it,
She [Em]pasted on a passport photo of herself in pigtails,
And u[A]nderneath 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 why she let time slip through her skinny, skinny fingers.

Chorus x2, Mid 8, repeat last line.