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Sunday Morning Coming Down

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 dessert.

Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes

And found my cleanest dirty shirt.

Then I washed my face and combed my hair

And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.I'd smoked my mind the night before

With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.

But I lit my first and watched a small kid

Playing with a can that he was kicking.

Then I walked across the street

And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.

And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost

Somewhere, somehow along the way.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.In the park I saw a daddy

With a 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 down the street,

And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,

And it echoed through the canyon

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.

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