Sunday Morning Comin' Down

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
With cigarettes and songs that I’ve been pickin’
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Cussin’ at a can that he was kicking
Then I crossed the empty street
And caught the sunday smell of someone fryin’ chicken
And Lord it took me back to somethin’
That I’d lost somewhere somehow along the way
On the sunday morning sidewalk
I'm wishing lord that I was stoned
’cause there is something in a sunday
That makes a body feel alone
And there’s nothin’ short of dyin’
Half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleepin’ city sidewalk
And Sunday mornin’ comin’ down.


Kristofferson is a genius who has a way of nailing an emotion.


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