I'm just an old mail carrier, my work is nearly done
Just a little rural route among the hill
And the neighbors they all know me just as I know eveyone
And I've shared with them their happiness and ills
Let me tell a simple story in a quaint and simple way
Just a story of a mother and her lad
And perhaps I'll reach some other who from home has gone astray
So they'll stop and write a line to make her glad
It's been twenty years this winter since I last saw little Jim
Since he kissed his loving mother at the door
And aI hope that he is listening,'cause this story's meant for him
For in twenty years she heard from him no more
Every day I found her waiting by the mailbox at the door
Yet she never showed her sorrow at his shame
She just looked so sort of wistful as I watched her slowly fade
But that letter that she wanted never came
Just a little helpless woman, Jim, she loved you to the end
And she never once let on you were to blame
But those twenty years alone, Jim, were too much for her to spend
While that letter that she wanted never came
Jim, your mother isn't waiting by the mailbox anynmore
And if I were you I think I would kneel and pray
And perhaps God will forgive you part of what you have in store
When you meet your finel judgement on that day