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 through my closet for my clothes

And found my cleanest dirty shirt

Then I shaved my face and combed my hair

Stumbled down the stairs to meet the day

I'd smoked my brain the night before on

Cigarettes and songs that I'd been picking

But I left my thirst and watched a small kid cursing

At a can that he was kicking

Then I crossed the empty street

And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken

And it took me back to something

That I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the way

On the Sunday morning sidewalks

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

Half as lonesome as the sound

On the sleeping city sidewalks

Sunday morning, coming down

In the park, I saw a daddy

With a laughing little girl who he was swinging

And I stopped beside the Sunday school

And listened to the song that 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 sidewalks

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

Half as lonesome as the sound

On the sleeping city sidewalks

Sunday morning, coming down

On that sleeping city sidewalks

Sunday morning, coming down

Sunday morning, coming down