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 for my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt

And I shaved my face and combed my hair

And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day

Well I'd smoke my brain the night before with cigarettes and songs I'd been picking

But I lit my first and watched the small kid coursin' 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 somehow somewhere 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) short of dying half as lonesome as a sound

On 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 song that 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...