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 And found my cleanest dirty shirt Then I washed my face and combed my hair And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day I'd smoked my mind the night before With cigarettes and songs I'd been pickin' But I lit my first and watched a small kid Playing with a can that he was kicking Then I walked across the street And caught the Sunday smell of someone's fryin' chicken And Lord it took me back to something that I lost Somewhere, somehow along the way On a Sunday morning sidewalk I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned 'Cause there's something in a Sunday That makes a body feel alone And there's nothin' short of dyin' That's half as lonesome as the sound Of the sleeping city sidewalks And Sunday morning coming down In the park I saw a daddy With a laughin' little girl that he was swinging And I stopped beside a Sunday school And listened to the songs they were singing Then I headed down the street And somewhere far away, a lonely bell was ringing And it echoed through the canyons Like a disappearing dreams of yesterday On a Sunday morning sidewalk I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned 'Cause there's something in a Sunday That makes a body feel alone And there's nothin' short of dyin' That's half as lonesome as the sound Of the sleepin' city sidewalks And Sunday morning coming down