Sunday Morning Comin' Down

KEY OF D
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 and found my cleanest dirty shirt...

And I shaved my face and combed my hair,
and stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my brain the night before on cigarettes and songs
that I'd been picking

But I lit my first, and watched a small kid cursing 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 had lost somehow,
somewhere along the way

On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
wishing Lord that I was stoned
Cause there is something in a Sunday,
that makes a body feel alone
And there is nothing short of dying,
half a lonesome as the sound,
as the sleeping city sidewalks,
Sunday morning coming down

In the park I saw a daddy,
with w laughing little girl who he was swinging

And I stopped beside a Sunday school,
and listened to a song that they were singing

Then I headed back for home and 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,
wishing Lord that I was stoned
Cause there is something in a Sunday,
that makes a body feel alone
And there is nothing short of dying,
half a lonesome as the sound,
as the sleeping city sidewalks,
Sunday morning coming down

On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
wishing Lord that I was stoned
Cause there is something in a Sunday,
that makes a body feel alone
And there is nothing short of dying,
half a lonesome as the sound,
as the sleeping city sidewalks,
Sunday morning coming down