Sunday_Mornin_Comin

Well, I woke up Sunday mornin'

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

Through my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt.

Then I washed my face and combed my hair

And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my brains the night before

With cigarettes and songs I'd been pickin'.

But I lit my first and watched a small kid

Playin' with a can that he was kickin'.

Then I walked across the street

And caught the Sunday smell of someone's fryin' chicken.

And, Lord, it took me back to something

That I lost somewhere, somehow along the way.

On a Sunday mornin' sidewalk,

I'm wishin', lord, that I was stoned.

'Cause there's something in a Sunday

That makes a body feel alone.

And there's nothin' short of dyin'

That's half as lonesome as the sound

Of the sleepin' city sidewalks

And Sunday mornin' comin' down.

In the park I saw a Daddy

With a laughin' little girl that he was swingin'.

And I stopped beside a Sunday school

And listened to the songs they were singin'.

Then I headed down the streets

And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin',

And it echoed through the canyons like a disappearin' dreams of yesterday.