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 smoked my mind the night before,
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking,
But I lit my first and watched a small kid,
Playing with a can that he was kicking,
Then I walked across the street and caught,
The Sunday smell of someone frying chicken,
Lord it took me back to something that,
I 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 the sleeping city sidewalk,
And Sunday morning coming down,
In the park I saw a daddy with a,
Laughing little girl that he was swinging,
And I stopped beside a Sunday school,
And listened to the songs that they were singing,
Then I headed down the street and somewhere,
Far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon,
Like 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 the sleeping city sidewalk,
And Sunday morning coming down.