Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down

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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 wasn'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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And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day. 

          A 
I'd smoked my brain the night before, 
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On cigarettes and songs, so I'd been picking. 
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But I lit my first and watched a small kid, 
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Cussing at a can that he was kicking. 
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Then I crossed the empty street, 
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caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken. 
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And it took me back to something, 
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That I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the way. 

              A7                              D   
On the Sunday morning sidewalk, 
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Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned. 
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'Cause there's something in a Sunday, 
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Makes a body feel alone. 
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And there's nothing short of dying, 
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Half as lonesome as the sound, 
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On the sleeping city sidewalks: 
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Sunday morning coming down. 

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In the park I saw a daddy, 
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With a laughing little girl who he was swinging. 
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And I stopped beside a Sunday school, 
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And listened to the song they were singing. 
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Then I headed back for home, 
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And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing. 
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And it echoed through the canyons, 
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Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday. 

                       A7                      D 
On the Sunday morning sidewalk, 
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Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned. 
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'Cause there's something in a Sunday, 
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Makes a body feel alone. 
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And there's nothing short of dying, 
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Half as lonesome as the sound, 
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On the sleeping city sidewalks: 
                  E7                           A 
Sunday morning coming down. 

(fading) 
                A7                  D 
Do do do do do do do do, 
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Do do do do do do do, 
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Do do do do do do do do, 
             E7                  A 
Do do do do do do do.