Sunday Morning Coming 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 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 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 sidewalk...