Sunday Morning Comin' Down

(álbum: Six Days On The Road - 1987)

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

I fumbled through my closet for my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt
And I shaved my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to greet the day

I'd smoked my brain the night before
On cigarettes and songs that I'd been picking
And I lit my first and watched a small kid
Cussing at a can that he was kicking

I crossed the empty street
Caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken
And it took me back to something
I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the way

On the Sunday morning sidewalks
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone

And there's nothing short of dying
Half as lonesome as the sound
On the sleeping city sidewalks
Sunday morning coming down

In the park, I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl who he was swinging
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the song that they were singing

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 sidewalks
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone
...