Chords
Sunday Morning Coming Down

Sunday Morning Coming Down was written by Kris Kristofferson and talks about a mans experience of loneliness and reflection on a Sunday morning, after a night of excess. The inspiration came from Kristoffersons own experiences and his observation of life and individuals difficulties in connecting with themselves and with others.

Key: G

Introduction:

 G 
Well I woke up Sunday morning
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with no way to hold my head that didn' t hurt
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and the beer I had for breakfast wasn' t bad
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so I had one more for des-sert
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then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
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and found my cleanest, dirty shirt
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then I washed my face, and combed my hair
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and stumbled down the stairs to meet the day

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I' d smoked my mind the night before
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with cigarettes and songs I' d been picking
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but I lit my first and watched a small kid   playing
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with the can that he was kicking
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then I walked across the street
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and caught the Sunday smell of someone' s frying chicken
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and lord it took me back to some-thin that I lost somewhere
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somehow along the way

                     C 
on a Sunday morning sidewalk
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I' m wishing lord, that I was stoned
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cause there' s something in a Sunday
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that makes the body feel alone
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and there' s nothing short of dying
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that' s half as lonesome as the sound
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of the sleeping city sidewalks
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and Sunday morning coming down

                     G7 
in the park I saw a daddy
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with a laughing little girl that he was swinging

     Em                                    D 
and listened to the songs that they were singing
        G                G7 
then I headed down the street
               C                                  G     Em 
and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ring - ing
        C                   D 
and it echoed through the canyons
          Am            D                   G 
like our disappearing dreams of yester - day

                     C 
on a Sunday morning sidewalk
                              G 
I' m wishing lord, that I was stoned
                              D 
cause there' s something in a Sunday
                          G 
that makes the body feel alone
                              C 
and there' s nothing short of dying
                                G 
that' s half as lonesome as the sound
                      D 
of the sleeping city sidewalks
                           G 
and Sunday morning coming down