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 in my closet to my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt

 And I washed my face and combed my hair stumbled down the stairs to meet the day



 Well I'd smoked my brain the night before

 With cigarettes and songs that'd I'd been pickin'

 But I lit my first and watched the small kid cussin' at a can that he was kicking

 Then I crossed the empty street

 And caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken

 And it took me back to something that I've lost somehow somewhere along the way



 On a 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 dying that passes lonesome as the sound

 Of the sleeping city sidewalk 

on Sunday morning coming down



 In the park I saw a daddy with a laughing little girl he was swingin'

 And I stopped beside a Sunday school

 And listened to the song that they were singin'

 Then I headed back for home  and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin'

 And it echoed through the canyons like the disappearing dreams of yesterday

 On a Sunday morning sidewalk..



 On a Sunday morning sidewalk 

I'm 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

 Of the sleeping city sidewalk 

on Sunday morning coming down