Sunday Morning Comin' Down

Kris Kristofferson / Johnny Cash (1970)

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Well, I woke up in the morning with no way to hold my head that didn't hurt;
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And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad, so I had one more for desert.
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Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt,
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And I washed my face and combed my hair and stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.
 
I'd smoked my mind the night before with cigarettes and songs - I'd been pickin'; 
But I lit my first and watched the small kid playin' with the can that he was kickin'; 
Then I walked across the street and caught the Sunday smell of someone's fryin' chicken; 
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And Lord it took me back to somethin' that I lost somehow somewhere along the way.
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On the Sunday mornin' sidewalks, I'd wishin', Lord, that I was stoned,
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'Cause there's something in a sunday that makes the body feel alone;
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And there's nothin' short of dyin', that's half as lonesome as the sound
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of the sleeping city's sidewalks And Sunday mornin' comin' down.
 
In the park I saw a daddy with a laughing little girl that he was swingin'; 
And I stopped beside a Sunday School and listened to the song they were singin'; 
Then I headed down the street, and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin'; 
And it echoed through the canyons like a disappearing dream of yesterday. 
On the Sunday mornin' sidewalks, I'd wishin', Lord, that I was stoned, 
'Cause there's something in a sunday that makes the body feel alone; 
And there's nothin' short of dyin' that's half as lonesome as the sound 
of the sleeping city's sidewalks And sunday mornin' comin' down. 


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