Sunday Morning Comin' Down

KEY OF D
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 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 stairs to meet the day.
I’d smoked my brain the night before on cigarettes and songs
that I’d been picking
But I lit my first, and watched a small kid cursing at a can
that he was kicking
Then I crossed the empty street and caught the Sunday smell
of someone frying chicken
And it took me back to something that I had lost somehow,
somewhere along the way
On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
wishing Lord that I was stoned
Cause there is something in a Sunday,
that makes a body feel alone
And there is nothing short of dying,
half a lonesome as the sound,
as the sleeping city sidewalks,
Sunday morning coming down
In the park I saw a daddy,
with w laughing little girl who he was swinging
And I stopped beside a Sunday school,
and listened to a 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 canyons like the disappearing dreams
of yesterday
On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
wishing Lord that I was stoned
Cause there is something in a Sunday,
that makes a body feel alone
And there is nothing short of dying,
half a lonesome as the sound,
as the sleeping city sidewalks,
Sunday morning coming down
On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
wishing Lord that I was stoned
Cause there is something in a Sunday,
that makes a body feel alone
And there is nothing short of dying,
half a lonesome as the sound,
as the sleeping city sidewalks,
Sunday morning coming down