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 desert Then I fumbled in my closet to my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt And I washed my face and combed my hair stumbled down the stairs to meet the day Well I'd smoked my brain the night before With cigarettes and songs that'd I'd been pickin' But I lit my first and watched the small kid cussin' at a can that he was kicking Then I crossed the empty street And caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken And it took me back to something that I've lost somehow somewhere along the way On a Sunday morning sidewalk wishing Lord that I was stoned Cause there's something in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone And there's nothing short of dying that passes lonesome as the sound Of the sleeping city sidewalk on Sunday morning coming down In the park I saw a daddy with a laughing little girl he was swingin' And I stopped beside a Sunday school And listened to the song that they were singin' Then I headed back for home and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin' And it echoed through the canyons like the disappearing dreams of yesterday On a Sunday morning sidewalk.. 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 of dying half as lonesome as the sound Of the sleeping city sidewalk on Sunday morning coming down