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 dessert.
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 mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I´d been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I´d lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I´m wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
´Cause there´s something in a Sunday

That makes a body feel alone.
And there´s nothing short a´ dying
That´s half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And 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
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I´m wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
´Cause there´s something in a Sunday

That makes a body feel alone.
And there´s nothing short a´ dying
That´s half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.