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 for dessert
I fumbled in my closet,
threw my clothes
and found my cleaner's dirty shirt
Then I washed my face,
combed my hair,
stumbled down the stairs to greet the day
I smoked my mind the night before
Were cigarettes and songs
that I'd been pickin'
And I lit my first
and watched a small kid cussing
at a can he'd been a -kickin'
I crossed the empty street
and caught the Sunday smell
of someone cookin' chicken
And it took me back to something
I'd lost somewhere,
somehow, along the way
On a Sunday morning sidewalk
Wishing Lord that I was stoned
And there's nothing short of dying
It's half as lonesome as it sounds
I was sleeping in city sidewalk,
Sunday morning coming down.
In the park I saw a daddy
with a laughing little girl
that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
to listen to a song that they were singing.
I headed on toward a home
somewhere far away,
a bell was ringing.
And it echoed in a canyon
Like the disappearing dream of yesterday
On a Sunday morning sightboard
Wishing, that I was stoned
Cause there's something in your soul
That makes a body feel alone