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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 pickin'.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid,
Playin with a can that he was kickin.
Then I walked across the street,
and caught the Sunday smell of someones fryin' chicken.
And it took me back to somethin',
That I'd lost somewhere, somehow along the way.
On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishin Lord that I was stoned.
Cause there's something in a Sunday,
that makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Thats half as lonesome as the sound,
Of a sleepin' city sidewalk
and Sunday mornin' comin' down.
In the park I saw a daddy,
With a laughin' little girl that he was swingin'.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school,
And listened to the songs that they were singin'.
Then I headed down the street
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin'.
And it echoed through the canyons,
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.
On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishin Lord that I was stoned.
Cause there's something in a Sunday,
that makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
thats half as lonesome as the sound,
Of a sleepin' city sidewalk
and Sunday mornin' comin' down.
Written by Kris Kristofferson, made famous by Johnny Cash
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