
Date of issue: 23.03.2014
Song language: English
Sunday Morning Comin' Down |
KEY OF D |
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 through my closet, |
for my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt… |
And I shaved my face and combed my hair, |
and stumbled down the stairs to meet the day. |
I’d smoked my brain the night before on cigarettes and songs |
that I’d been picking |
But I lit my first, and watched a small kid cursing at a can |
that he was kicking |
Then I crossed the empty street and caught the Sunday smell |
of someone frying chicken |
And it took me back to something that I had lost somehow, |
somewhere along the way |
On the Sunday morning sidewalk, |
wishing Lord that I was stoned |
Cause there is something in a Sunday, |
that makes a body feel alone |
And there is nothing short of dying, |
half a lonesome as the sound, |
as the sleeping city sidewalks, |
Sunday morning coming down |
In the park I saw a daddy, |
with w laughing little girl who he was swinging |
And I stopped beside a Sunday school, |
and listened to a song that they were singing |
Then I headed back for home and somewhere far away |
a lonely bell was ringing |
And it echoed through the canyons like the disappearing dreams |
of yesterday |
On the Sunday morning sidewalk, |
wishing Lord that I was stoned |
Cause there is something in a Sunday, |
that makes a body feel alone |
And there is nothing short of dying, |
half a lonesome as the sound, |
as the sleeping city sidewalks, |
Sunday morning coming down |
On the Sunday morning sidewalk, |
wishing Lord that I was stoned |
Cause there is something in a Sunday, |
that makes a body feel alone |
And there is nothing short of dying, |
half a lonesome as the sound, |
as the sleeping city sidewalks, |
Sunday morning coming down |