Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down

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 songs that I've 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
 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 morning coming down
 In the park I saw a daddy
 With his laughing little girl, who he was swinging
 And I stopped beside a Sunday School
 And listened to the song they were singing
 Then I headed down the street
 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 morning coming down