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
Stumbled down the stairs to meet the day
I smoked my mind the night before With cigarettes and songs
That I'd been picking
But I lit my first and watched a small boy
Cussing at a can that he'd been picking
I crossed the empty street
Caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken
And he took me back to the street
Back to something that I 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 the body feel alone
There ain't nothing short of dying
Half as lonesome as the sound
Of a sleeping city sidewalk
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
To listen to the songs that they were singing
I headed down the road
Somewhere far away
A lonely bell was ringing
And it echoed through the canons
Like a disappearing dream of yesterday
On a Sunday morning sidewalk
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
Cause there's something about a Sunday
That'll make your body feel alone
And there ain't nothing short of dying
Nothing short of dying
Half as lonesome as the sound
Of a sleeping city sidewalk
Sunday morning coming down
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned