Well elpolvo,
I woke this morning feeling little bit like this and thinking back to my walks on a deserted city street back home with my dad on Sunday morning after his drinking in a bar all night--
Sunday Morning Coming 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 desert,
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 smoked my mind the night before with
cigarettes and songs I'd been picking,
but I lit my first and watch the small
kid playing with the a can that he was kicking,
then I walked across the street and caught
the smell of someone frying chicken
and lord it took me back to something that
I lost somehow somewhere 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
of dying, quite as lonesome as this 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
stood beside a Sunday school and listen to
the songs that they were singing.
then I headed down the street and far away a
a lonesome bell was ringing and it echoed in
the canyon, like a disappearing dream of yesterday.
On a Sunday morning sidewalk, lord I'm wishing I
was stoned, cause there's something in a Sunday,
that makes a body feel alone, and there's nothing
short of dying, half as lonely as this sound,
of the sleeping city sidewalk and Sunday morning
coming down.
BTW - The date last night went well after solving the
usual disparities in agendas. She wanted to go to church and I naturally wanted to go to bed, so we compromised -
We prayed on the couch.
Selah,
Voltaire |
