Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that
And the beer I had for breakfast
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed
And stumbled down the stairs to
meet the day.
I’d smoked my mind the night
With cigarettes and songs I’d been
But I lit my first and watched a
Playing with a can that he was
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
On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I’m wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
‘Cause there’s something in a
That makes a body feel alone.
And there’s nothing short a’ dying
That’s half as lonesome as the
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.