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 stumbled 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 that I'd been picking
but I lit my first and watched a small boy cussing at a can that he was kicking
I headed down the road, 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 stone
'cause there's something in a Sunday that makes the body feel alone
and there ain't nothing short of dying that's half as lonesome as the sound
of a 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 song that they were singing
I crossed the empty street, and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing
and it echoed through the canyons like the disappearing dreams of yesterday

On a Sunday morning sidewalk, I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stone
'cause there's something in a Sunday that makes the body feel alone
and there ain't nothing short of dying that's half as lonesome as the sound
of a sleeping city sidewalk, and Sunday morning coming down

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