I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, 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.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And 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 down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.
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.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And sunday morning coming down.