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
Then I fumbled in my closet to my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt
And I washed my face and combed my hair stumbled down the stairs to meet the da
y
Well I'd smoked my brain the night before
With cigarettes and songs that'd I'd been pickin'
But I lit my first and watched the small kid cussin' at a can that he was kicki
ng
Then I crossed the empty street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken
And it took me back to something that I've lost somehow somewhere along the way
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 passes lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
on Sunday morning coming down
In the park I saw a daddy with a laughing little girl 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 a Sunday morning sidewalk..
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 nothing short of dying half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
on Sunday morning coming down
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