Sunday Morning Coming Down - Live 1992

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

Found my cleanest dirty shirt

I washed my face and combed my hair

Stumbled down the stairs to meet the day

I'd smoked my mind the night before

With cigarettes and songs that I'd been picking

But I lit my first and watched a small boy

Cursing at a can that he'd been kicking

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 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

There ain't nothing short a' dying

Half as lonesome as the sound

Of a sleeping city sidewalk

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 back for home

And somewhere far away a lonesome bell was ringing

And it echoed through the canyon

Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday

On a Sunday morning sidewalk

Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned

'Cause there's something 'bout a Sunday

That will make a body feel alone

There ain't nothing short a' dying

Half as lonesome as the sound

Of a sleeping city sidewalk

Sunday morning coming down