wait oh shit I can't get it open can't get it open
well I woke up Sunday morning there's no way to hold my head that didn't hurt
shit I can't get it open can't get it open and the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad so I
had one for dessert
and then I wash my face and comb my hair
I stumbled down the stairs to meet the day I spoke my mind the night before
with cigarettes and songs that I didn't pick in
then I let my purse and watched the small boy doesn't add a can that he was kicking
then I crossed into the street cause the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken
and they took me back to something that I lost somewhere some hour long away
all of a sudden they won't hit my wall I wish your lord cause I was stone
cause there's something about Sunday that'll make your body be alone
there ain't nothing short of dying ever as long as it sounds
all the sleep in the city of cyborg and the Sunday morning coming down
in the park I saw the daddy with the laughing little girl that he was swinging
then I stopped beside the Sunday school listening to the songs that they were singing
bringing in machines and went on down the road and somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing
and then I go through the canyon like a disappearing dream yesterday
on a Sunday morning cycle I wish your lord cause I was stone
cause there's something about a Sunday that'll make your body be alone
there ain't nothing short of dying ever as long as it sounds
all the sleep in the city of cyborg and the Sunday morning coming down
job accomplished
open all the way to our back door
