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
I found my cleanest dirty shirt
then I washed my face and combed my hair, stumbled down the stairs
to greet the day

Well I smoked my mind the night before on cigarettes and songs
that I'd been picking
then I lit my first and watched a small boy cussin' at a can
that he was kicking
then I crossed the empty street, caught the Sunday smell of someone
frying chicken
and it took me back to something that I lost somewhere somehow
along the way

CHORUS:
On a Sunday morning sidewalk
(I'm) wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
Cause there's somethin' 'bout a Sunday
that makes a body feel alone
and there ain't nothin' short of dying
half as lonesome as the sound
of a sleeping city sidewalk
and Sunday morning coming down

In a park I saw a Daddy with a laughing little girl that he was swinging
and I stopped beside a Sunday school, listened to the songs that
they was singing
And then, far away, I heard a lonely bell a-ringin'