There's nothing short of dying half as lonesome as the sound Of a sleeping city sidewalk, with sunday morning coming down Out my window, out my window Out my window, out my window Rock of ages cleft for me I hide myself in thee Let the water and the blood cure what is wrong with me Rock of ages does your spirit walk along my street? Can it cure what's wrong with me? Can it cure what's wrong with me? There's nothing short of dying half as lonesome as the sight As a sleeping city sidewalk when sunday morning turns to night Out my window, out my window When my eyes shall, when my eyes shall close Nothing short of dying, out my window Nothing short of dying, out my window