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Lynn Anderson
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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 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
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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
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