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 skirt

And I washed my face and combed my hair stumbled down the stair to greed the day

I'd smoke my mind the night before with cigarettes and songs I've been a picking

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

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 somewhere somehow along the way

On the Sunday morning sidewalk wishing Lord that I was stoned

Cause there's something in a Sunday makes a body feel alone

And there's nothing sure to dying half as lonely as the sound

Of the sleeping city sidewalk Sunday morning coming down



In the park I saw a daddy with the laughing little girl that he was swinging

And I stopped beside a Sunday school and listened to the songs they were singing

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

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

On the Sunday morning sidewalk...