Well I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my head that didn't hurt
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And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad so I had one more for desert
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Then I fumbled in my closet to my clothes and found my cleanest dirty skirt
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And I washed my face and combed my hair stumbled down the stair to greed the day
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I'd smoke my mind the night before with cigarettes and songs I've been a picking
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But I lit my first and watched the small kid cursin' at a can that he was kicking
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Then I crossed the empty street and caught
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The Sunday smell of someone frying chicken
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And it took me back to something that I'd lost somewhere somehow along the way
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On the Sunday morning sidewalk wishing Lord that I was stoned
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Cause there's something in a Sunday makes a body feel alone
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And there's nothing sure to dying half as lonely as the sound
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Of the sleeping city sidewalk Sunday morning coming down
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In the park I saw a daddy with the laughing little girl that he was swinging
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And I stopped beside a Sunday school and listened to the songs they were singing
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Then I headed back for home and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing
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And it echoed through the canyon like the disappearing dreams of yesterday
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On the Sunday morning sidewalk...
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Sunday Morning Coming Down
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| Lynn Anderson |
