Sunday Morning Coming Down Johnny Cash…

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.

GBBInc®

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