Sunday Morning Coming Down (Live 1992)

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 through my closet for my clothes
Found my cleanest dirty shirt
I washed my face and combed my hair
Stumbled down the stairs to meet the day

I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs that I'd been picking
But I lit my first and watched a small boy
Cursing at a can that he'd been kicking

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 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

There ain't nothing short a' dying
Half as lonesome as the sound
Of a sleeping city sidewalk
Sunday morning coming down

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing

Then I headed back for home
And somewhere far away a lonesome bell was ringing
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday

On a Sunday morning sidewalk
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
'Cause there's something 'bout a Sunday
That will make a body feel alone

There ain't nothing short a' dying
Half as lonesome as the sound
Of a sleeping city sidewalk
Sunday morning coming down