Sunday Morning Coming Down

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 day

Well I'd smoke my brain the night before
With cigarettes and songs that'd been picking
But I lit my first and watched the small kid coursin' at a can that he was kicking
Then I acrossed 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 the Sunday morning sidewalk wishing Lord that I was stoned
Cause there's something in a Sunday makes a body feel alone
And there's nothing sure to dying half as lonesome as the sound
On the sleeping city sidewalk Sunday morning coming down

In the park I saw a daddy with the laughing little girl he was swinging
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the song that they were singing
Then I headed back for home somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing
And it echoed through the canyons like the disappearing dreams of yesterday

On the Sunday morning sidewalk...