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 desert
Then I fumbled through my closet to my clothes and found my cleanest, dirty skirt
And I washed my face and combed my hair, stumbled down the stairs to greet the day

Well, I'd smoke my mind the night before with cigarettes and songs I've been a picking
But I lit my first and watched the small kid cursin' at a can that he was kicking
Then I crossed the empty street and caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken
And it took me back to something that I'd lost somewhere somehow 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 lonely as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk, Sunday morning coming down

In the park, I saw a daddy with the laughing little girl that he was swinging
And I stopped beside a Sunday school and listened to the songs they were singing
(Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves)
Then I headed back for home and somewhere far away a lonely, bell was ringing
And it echoed through the canyon like the disappearing dreams of yesterday

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 lonely as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk, Sunday morning coming down