(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 desert.

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.

Well, I'd smoke my brain the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking
But I lit my first and watched the small kid
Cursin' 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'd lost somehow
Somewhere along the way.

On the Sunday morning sidewalk
Wishing Lord, that I was stoned
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
Makes a body feel alone.

And there's nothing sure of dying
Half as lonesome as a sound
On the sleeping city sidewalk
Sunday morning coming down.

In the park I saw a daddy
With the laughing little girl that he was swinging
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the 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's something in a Sunday
Makes a body feel alone...