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'd had for breakfast wasn't bad, so I had one more for dessert. And I fumbled through my closet through my clothes and found my cleanest, dirty shirt And I washed my face and combed my hair and stumbled out the stairs to meet the day I'd smoked my mind the night before on cigarettes and songs that I'd been picking But I lit my first and watched a small kid playing with a can that he was kicking. And I walked across the street and caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken Lord, it took me back to something that I lost somewhere, somehow along the way. On a Sunday morning sidewalk wishing Lord that I was stoned Cause there's something in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone And there's nothing short of dying that's half as lonesome as the sound Of 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 listened to the song that they were singing And I headed down the street and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing And it echoed through the canyons to the disappearing dreams of yesterday. On a Sunday morning sidewalk wishing Lord that I was stoned Cause there's something in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone And there's nothing short of dying that's half as lonesome as the sound Of a sleeping city sidewalk Sunday morning coming down