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 desert

I fumbled in my closet for my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt

And I shaved my face and combed my hair stumbled down the stair to meet the day

Well I'd smoke my brain the night before with cigarettes and songs I'd been a picking

But I lit my first and watched the small kid cussin' at a can that he was kicking

Then I crossed the street and caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken

And it took me back to something that I'd lost somehow somewhere along the way

On the Sunday morning sidewalk wishing Lord that I was stoned

Cause there's something in a Sunday makes a body feel alone

And there's nothing sure to dying that's half as lonesome as the sound

On the sleeping city sidewalk and Sunday morning coming down

In the park I saw a daddy with the laughin' little girl that he was swinging

And I stopped beside the Sunday school and listened to the songs they were singing

Then I headed back for home and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing

And it echoed through the canyons like the disappearing dreams of yesterday

On the Sunday morning sidewalk...