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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 dessert. |
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Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes, |
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And found my cleanest dirty shirt. |
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An' I shaved my face and combed my hair, |
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An' stumbled down the stairs to meet the day. |
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|
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I'd smoked my brain the night before, |
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On cigarettes and songs I'd been pickin'. |
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But I lit my first and watched a small kid, |
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Cussin' at a can that he was kicking. |
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Then I crossed the empty street, |
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'n caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken. |
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And it took me back to somethin', |
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That I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the way. |
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|
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On the Sunday morning sidewalk, |
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Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned. |
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'Cos there's something in a Sunday, |
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Makes a body feel alone. |
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And there's nothin' short of dyin', |
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Half as lonesome as the sound, |
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On the sleepin' city sidewalks: |
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Sunday mornin' comin' down. |
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|
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In the park I saw a daddy, |
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With a laughin' little girl who he was swingin'. |
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And I stopped beside a Sunday school, |
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And listened to the song they were singin'. |
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Then I headed back for home, |
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And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin'. |
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And it echoed through the canyons, |
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Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday. |
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|
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On the Sunday morning sidewalk, |
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Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned. |
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'Cos there's something in a Sunday, |
|
Makes a body feel alone. |
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And there's nothin' short of dyin', |
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Half as lonesome as the sound, |
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On the sleepin' city sidewalks: |
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Sunday mornin' comin' down. |
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|
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Do do do do do do do do, |
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Do do do do do do do, |
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Do do do do do do do do, |
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Do do do do do do do. |
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|
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To fade |
