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Jim
November 28th 04, 08:53 PM
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 smoked 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 of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, 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 a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming 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.

David
November 29th 04, 11:14 AM
"Jim" > wrote in message
...
>
> 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 smoked 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 of someone frying chicken.
> And Lord, 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 a' dying
> That's half as lonesome as the sound
> Of the sleeping city sidewalk
> And Sunday morning coming 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.
>
sung by the man in black. doesn't get any better

Bob Falooley
November 29th 04, 05:13 PM
Jim wrote:

>
> Well, I woke up Sunday morning
> With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.

Don't worry, there will be peace in the valley.

--Falooley