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 in my closet to my clothes and found my cleanest dirty skirt   And I washed my face and combed my hair stumbled down the stair to greed the day   I'd smoke my mind the night before with cigarettes and songs I've been a picking   But I lit my first and watched the small kid cursin' 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 somewhere somehow 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 to dying half as lonely as the sound   Of 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 songs they were singing   Then I headed back for home and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing   And it echoed through the canyon like the disappearing dreams of yesterday   On the Sunday morning sidewalk...