Sunday Morning Coming Down

(альбом: American Portraits: Faron Young - 2020)

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 through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
Stumbled down the stairs to greet the day

I smoked my mind the night before on
With cigarettes and songs that I'd been picking
And I light my first and watch a small kid cussing
At a can that he'd been kicking
I crossed the empty street
And caught the country smell of someone cooking chicken
And it took me back to something
I lost somewhere, somehow along the way

On a Sunday morning sidewalk
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
That's half as lonesome as the sound
On the sleeping city sidewalk
And 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 home toward a home somewhere
And heard a lonely bell ringing
And it echoed in the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday

On a Sunday morning sidewalk
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
That's half as lonesome as the sound
On the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down