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'd had for breakfast
 wasn't bad, so I had one more for dessert.
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 And I fumbled through my closet
 through my clothes and found my cleanest, dirty shirt
 And I washed my face and combed my hair
 and stumbled out the stairs to meet the day
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 I'd smoked my mind the night before
 on cigarettes and songs that I'd been picking
 But I lit my first and watched a small kid playing
 with a can that he was kicking.
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 And I walked across the street
 and caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken
 Lord, it took me back to something
 that I lost somewhere, somehow along the way.
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 On a Sunday morning sidewalk
 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
 that's half as lonesome as the sound
 
 Of a sleeping city sidewalk
 Sunday morning coming down
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 In the park I saw a Daddy
 with a laughing little girl that he was swinging
 And I stopped beside a Sunday school
 listened to the song that they were singing
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 And I headed down the street
 and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing
 And it echoed through the canyons
 to the disappearing dreams of yesterday.
 
 On a Sunday morning sidewalk
 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
 that's half as lonesome as the sound
 
 Of a sleeping city sidewalk
 Sunday morning coming down