Well, I woke up Sunday morning
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With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt
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And the beer I had for breakfast wouldn't bad
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So I had one more for dessert
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Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes
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And found my cleanest dirty shirt
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And I shaved my face and combed my hair
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Stumbled down the stairs to meet the day
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Well, I'd smoked my brain the night before
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On cigarettes and songs I'd been picking
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But I lit my first and watched a small boy
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Cussin' at a can that he was kicking
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And I crossed the empty street
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Caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken
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And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
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Somewhere, somehow along the way
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On a Sunday morning sidewalk
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I'm wishing Lord, that I was stoned
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'Cause there's something in a Sunday
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That makes a body feel alone
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And there's nothing short of dying
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That's half as lonesome as the sound
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Of a sleeping city sidewalk
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A Sunday mornin' comin' down
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In the park I saw a daddy
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With a laughing little girl, he was swinging
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And I stopped beside a Sunday school
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And listened to the songs that they were singing
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Then I headed back for home
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And somewhere far away a bell was ringing
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And it echoed through the canyons
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Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday
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On a Sunday morning sidewalk
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Lord, I'm wishing I was stoned
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'Cause there's something in a Sunday
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That makes a body feel alone
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And there's nothing short of dying
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That's half as lonesome as the sound
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Of the sleeping city sidewalk
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And Sunday mornin' comin' down
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Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down
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| Mark Chesnutt |
