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 to my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to greet the day
Well, I'd smoke my brain the night before
With cigarettes and songs that I'd been picking
But I lit my first and watched the small kid
Cursin' at a can that he was kicking
Then across the empty street
I caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken
And it took me back to something
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 sure to dying half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk and Sunday morning coming down
In the park, I saw a daddy
With the laughing little girl he was swinging
And then I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the song 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, wishing Lord that I was stoned
'Cause there's something in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone
And there's nothing sure to dying half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk and Sunday morning coming down
On the sleeping city sidewalk, Sunday morning coming down