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Sunday Morning Comin' Down

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Well, I	woke up in the morning with no	way to hold my head that didn't	hurt;

	C	Am	G7
And the	beer I had for breakfast wasn't	bad, so I had one more for de	sert.

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Then I	fumbled in my closet through my	clothes and found my cleanest dirty	shirt,

	F	Dm	Dm7	G7
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 a	lone;

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And there's nothin' short of	dyin', that's half as lonesome as the	sound

	G7	C
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.