Sunday Morning Coming Down

Well I woke up Sunday mornin', 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 And I shaved my face and combed my hair and, stumbled down the stairs to meet the day I'd smoked my brain the night before on, cigarettes and songs that I'd been pickin' But I lit my first and watched a small kid cussin' at a can, that he was kickin' Then I crossed the empty street and caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken And it took me back to somethin', that I'd lost somehow somewhere along the way On the Sunday morning sidewalks, wishin' Lord, that I was stoned Cause there's something in a Sunday, makes a body feel alone And there's nothin' short of dyin', half as lonesome as the sound On the sleepin' city side walks, Sunday mornin' comin' down In the park I saw a daddy, with a laughing little girl who he was swingin' And I stopped beside a Sunday school and listened to the song that they were singin' Then I headed back for home and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin' And it echoed through the canyons like the disappearing dreams of yesterday On the Sunday morning sidewalks, wishin' Lord, that I was stoned Cause there's something in a Sunday, makes a body feel alone And there's nothin' short of dyin', half as lonesome as the sound On the sleepin' city side walks, Sunday mornin' comin' down