Well, I woke up
Sunday morning with no way to hold
my head and it didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
so I had one more for dessert.
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
I'd smoked my brain the night before on
cigarettes and songs that I'd been pickin'
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
cussin' at a can that he was kickin'
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 that makes a body feel alone
And there's nothing short of dyin'
Half as lonesome as the sound
All asleep in the city sidewalks
Sunday morning, comin' down
In the park I saw a daddy with a laughing
little girl who 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 sight horse
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,
half as lonesome as the sound
On the sleeping city side walls,
Sunday morning coming down
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