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 dessert.
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Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
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And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
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Then I washed my face and combed my hair
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And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.
|
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I'd smoked my mind the night before
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With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
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But I lit my first and watched a small kid
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Playing with a can that he was kicking.
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Then I walked across the street
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And 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 a' 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 morning coming down.
|
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In the park I saw a daddy
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With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
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And I stopped beside a Sunday school
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And listened to the songs they were singing.
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Then I headed down the street,
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And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
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And it echoed through the canyon
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Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.
|
|
On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
|
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
|
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
|
That makes a body feel alone.
|
And there's nothing short a' dying
|
That's half as lonesome as the sound
|
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
|
And Sunday morning coming down.
|
|
-----------------
|
Sunday Morning Coming Down
|
| Johnny Cash |
