It's an old Chris Christopherson tune,
Well, woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head
And the beer I had for breakfast
So I had one more for dessert
Then I fumbled through my closet
Through my clothes and found the cleanest,
And then I brushed my teeth and cooled my head,
with cigarettes and songs
I watched a small boy cussin' at
a camp that he was kickin'
And then I walked an empty street
and smelled the Sunday smell
of someone's fryin' chicken
And it took me back to some place
On a Sunday morning sidewalk
I'm wishing Lord I was gone
And there's nothing short of dy ing
that's half as lonesome as the sound of
a sleeping I sit aside and watch
Every Sunday morning come down
In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughin' little girl
Then I stopped outside the Sunday school
And listen to the songs that
And as I headed back for home
Alone the bell was ringing
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dream
On a Sunday mornin' side walk
I'm wishin' Lord I was stoned
Cause there's somethin' in the Sunday
That makes a body feel alone
And there's nothin' sure to die
Yeah, that's half as lonesome as it sounds
Of a sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down
