Sunday Morning Coming Down

(Kris Kristofferson)



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 through my closet for my clothes

And found my cleanest dirty shirt

Then I shaved my face and combed my hair

And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.



I'd smoked my brain the night before

With cigarettes and songs that I've been picking

But I lit my first and watched a small kid

Cursing at a can that he was kicking.



Then I crossed the empty street

And caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken

And it took me back to something

That I had lost somehow, somewhere along the way.



On the Sunday morning sidewalk

Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned

'Cause there is something in a Sunday

That makes a body feel alone.



And there is nothing short of dying

Half a lonesome as the sound

Om the sleeping city sidewalks

Sunday morning coming down.



In the park I saw a daddy

With the laughing little girl he was swinging

And I stopped beside a Sunday school

And listened to a 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

Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned

'Cause there is something in a Sunday

That makes a body feel alone.