Sunday Morning Coming Down Johnny Cash
W[C]ell, I woke up Sunday morning
With no w[F]ay to hold my h[G]ead that didn't [C]hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't [Am]bad,
So I had one more for dess[G]ert.
Then I f[C]umbled in my closet through my cl[F]othes
And found my cleanest dirty s[C]hirt.[Am]
Then I w[F]ashed my face and c[G]ombed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the [C]day.
I'd sm[C]oked my mind the night before
With c[F]igarettes and [G]songs I'd been p[C]icking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid[Am]
Playing with a can that he was [G]kicking.
Then I w[C]alked across the street
And caught the [F]Sunday smell of someone frying c[C]hicken[Am].
And Lord, it [F]took me back to somet[G]hing that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the [C]way.
On a Sunday morning s[F]idewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was s[C]toned.
'Cause there's something in a [G]Sunday
That makes a body feel a[C]lone.
And there's nothing short a' [F]dying
That's half as lonesome as the [C]sound
Of the sleeping city s[G]idewalk
And Sunday morning coming [C]down.
In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.
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 a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.