Well I woke up Sunday morning, With no way to hold my head that didnt hurt. And the beer I had for breakfast wasnt bad, So I had one more for dessert. Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes, And found my cleanest dirty shirt. An I shaved my face and combed my hair, An stumbled down the stairs to meet the day. Id smoked my brain the night before, On cigarettes and songs Id been pickin. But I lit my first and watched a small kid, Cussin at a can that he was kicking. Then I crossed the empty street, n caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin chicken. And it took me back to somethin, That Id lost somehow, somewhere along the way. On the Sunday morning sidewalk, Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned. Cos theres something in a Sunday, Makes a body feel alone. And theres nothin short of dyin, Half as lonesome as the sound, On the sleepin city sidewalks: Sunday mornin comin down. In the park I saw a daddy, With a laughin little girl who he was swingin. And I stopped beside a Sunday school, And listened to the song 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 the Sunday morning sidewalk, Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned. Cos theres something in a Sunday, Makes a body feel alone. And theres nothin short of dyin, Half as lonesome as the sound, On the sleepin city sidewalks: Sunday mornin comin down.
Posted on: Wed, 29 Oct 2014 10:20:33 +0000
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