Sunday Morning Coming Down

Well, I woke up Sunday morning

With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt

And the beer I had for breakfast

Wasn't bad so I had one more for dessert

Then I fumbled to my closet through my clothes

And found my cleanest dirty shirt

Then I shaved my face and combed my hair

Stumbled down the stairs to start the day

I'd smoked my brain the night before

With cigarettes and songs that I'd been picking

Then I'd lit my first and watched a small kid

Cussing at a can that he was kicking

Then I crossed an empty street

And caught the Sunday smell of someone's frying chicken

And it took me back to something

That I'd lost somehow somewhere along the way

On a Sunday morning sidewalk

I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned

Cause there's something in a Sunday

Makes a body feel alone

And there's nothing short of dying

Half as lonesome as the sound

On a sleeping city sidewalk

Sunday morning coming down

In the park I saw a daddy

With a laughing little girl that he was swinging

And I stopped beside a Sunday school

And listened to the songs they were singing

Then I headed back from somewhere far away

A lonely bell was ringing

And it echoed through the canyons

Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday

On a Sunday morning sidewalk

I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned

Cause there's something in a Sunday

Makes a body feel alone

And there's nothing short of dying

Half as lonesome as the sound

On a sleeping city sidewalk

Sunday morning coming down