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 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 Well I'd smoke my brain the night before with cigarettes and songs I'd been picking But I lit my first and watched the small kid coursin' 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 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) short of dying half as lonesome as a sound On 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 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 sidewalkTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
