well I woke up Sunday morning
with no way to hold my head that did not hurt
and the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad
so I had one more for desert
I fumbled through my closet
found my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt
and I washed my face and combed my hair
and stumbled down the stairs to meet the day

I smoked my mind the night before
on cigarettes and songs that I'd been picking
and I lit my first and watched the small boy
cussing 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
I lost somewhere somehow along the way

on a Sunday morning sidewalk
wishing Lord that I was stone
cause there's something in a Sunday
that makes the body feel alone
and there's nothing short of dieing
half as lonesome as the sound
of a sleepy city sidewalk
Sunday morning coming down

in a park I saw a daddy
with a laughing little girl that he was swinging
and I stopped beside a Sunday school
listening to the songs that 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

                               kris kristofferson