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 in my closet through my clothes

I found my cleanest dirty shirt

then I washed my face and combed my hair, stumbled down the stairs

to greet the day

Well I smoked my mind the night before on cigarettes and songs

that I'd been picking

then I lit my first and watched a small boy cussin' at a can

that he was kicking

then I crossed the empty street, caught the Sunday smell of someone

frying chicken

and it took me back to something that I lost somewhere somehow

along the way

CHORUS:

On a Sunday morning sidewalk

(I'm) wishing, Lord, that I was stoned

Cause there's somethin' 'bout a Sunday

that makes a body feel alone

and there ain't nothin' short of dying

half as lonesome as the sound

of a sleeping city sidewalk

and Sunday morning coming down

In a park I saw a Daddy with a laughing little girl that he was swinging

and I stopped beside a Sunday school, listened to the songs that

they was singing

And then, far away, I heard a lonely bell a-ringin'