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 desert   Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt   And I shaved my face and combed my hair   And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day   Well I'd smoke my brain the night before with cigarettes and songs I'd been picking   But I lit my first and watched the small kid coursin' at a can that he was kicking   Then I crossed the empty street   And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken   And it took me back to something that I'd lost somehow somewhere along the way   On the Sunday morning sidewalk wishing Lord that I was stoned   Cause there's something in a Sunday makes a body feel alone   And there's nothing (sure) short of dying half as lonesome as a sound   On the sleeping city sidewalk Sunday morning coming down      In the park I saw a daddy with the laughing little girl that he was swinging   And I stopped beside a Sunday school and listened to the song that they were singing   Then I headed back for home and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing   And it echoed through the canyons like the disappearing dreams of yesterday   On the Sunday morning sidewalk...