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 in my closet to 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 smoke my mind the night before with cigarettes and songs I'd been picking But I lit my first and watched the small kid playing with the can that he was kicking Then I walked across the street And caught the Sunday smell of someone's frying chicken And Lord it took me back to something That I'd lost somewhere somehow along the way
On the 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 sure to dying that's half as lonesome as the sound Of the sleeping city sidewalk and 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 Then I headed down the street and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing And it echoed through the canyons like the disappearing dreams of yesterday
