Sunday Mornin Comin Down

A                                  D                               A
Well I woke up Sunday mornin'', no way to hold my head that didn''t hurt
                                        F#m                          E
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn''t bad, so I had one more for desert
A                                         D                                    A   F#m
Then I fumbled through my closet and my clothes and found my cleanest, dirty shirt
D                          Bm                                                      E
Then I washed my face and combed my hair and stumbled down the stairs to meet the day

    A                                    D                            A
I smoked my brain the night before, on cigarettes and songs I''d been pickin''
                                         F#m                          E
I lit my first and watched a small kid, Cussin at a can that he was kickin''
        A                                       D                                A    F#m
And I crossed the empty street and caught the Sunday smell of someones fryin'' chicken
        D               Bm                D              E                  A
And it took me back to something, that I lost somehow, somewhere along the way.

A                     D                                 A
On a Sunday mornin'' sidewalk, wishin'' Lord that I was stoned
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''Cause there''s somethin'' in a Sunday, makes a body feel alone
                              D                              A
There aint nothin'' short of dyin'', half as lonesome as the sound
                     E                              A
On a sleepin'' city sidewalk, Sunday mornin'' comin'' down

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In the park I saw a daddy, with a laughin'' little girl that he was swingin''
                                        F#m                           E
Then I stopped beside a Sunday school, listen to the songs they were singin''
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Then I headed back for home and somewhere far away a lonesome bell was ringin''
         D                 Bm                D             E          A
And it echoed through the canyon, Like the disappearing'' dreams of yesterday

A                     D                                 A
On a Sunday mornin'' sidewalk, wishin'' Lord that I was stoned
                               E                          A
''Cause there''s somethin'' in a Sunday, makes a body feel alone
                              D                              A
There aint nothin'' short of dyin'', half as lonesome as the sound
                     E                              A
On a sleepin'' city sidewalk, Sunday mornin'' comin'' down

A                     D                                 A
On a Sunday mornin'' sidewalk, wishin'' Lord that I was stoned
                               E                          A
''Cause there''s somethin'' in a Sunday, makes a body feel alone
                              D                              A
There aint nothin'' short of dyin'', half as lonesome as the sound
                     E                              A
On a sleepin'' city sidewalk, Sunday mornin'' comin'' down