(Kris Kristofferson)



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 stair to meet the day.



Well, I smoke my brain the night before

With cigarettes and songs that I'd been a picking

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 cookin' chicken

And it took me back to something

That I'd lost somewhow, somewhere along the way.



On a 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 of dying

Half as lonesome as the sound

On the sleepy 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 canyon

Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.



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 of dying

Half as lonesome as the sound

On the sleepy city sidewalk

Sunday morning coming down...