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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 in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and the songs I'd been pickin'
But I lit my first and watched a small boy
Cussin' at a can that he was kicking
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone's 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.
And there's nothing short of dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of a sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday mornin' comin' down.

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging
And I stopped outside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs that they were singing
And then I headed down the street
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

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.
And there's nothing short of dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of a sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday mornin' comin' down.

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