Sunday Morning Coming Down

"Sunday Morning Coming Down"

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.

Kris Kristofferson