Lyrics: Kris Kristofferson
Music: Kris Kristofferson
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 in my closet
Through my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day
I'd smoke 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 on someone's frying chicken
And 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 of dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down