Well, I woke up Sunday morning, when the wind holds my head in turn. Maybe your life, 12 breaks, wasn't bad, and one more for dessert. I've flamble my clothes, from my clothes, I find my cleanest dirty shirt. I wash my face and come in, start my downstairs for me to day. I smoke my brain the night before, you know my mouth feel like an ice tray, I've been licking. Then I let my first and worstest old boy, because I never can, he was a kickin'. I walk wild on the street, got that sun as mad as someone, fried chicken. Lord, it took me back to something, I lost somewhere somehow on my way. All the Sunday morning sun, and I walked, oh I wish a Lord and I was alone. All the Sunday morning sun, and I walked, oh I wish a Lord and I was alone. And I'm the true one, I'm dying, having lost sleep as a child. All the Sunday morning, coming down, and I'm going to die. Well in the fog, I saw a dead end, with laughing in the gullywood, swinging. And I stopped by sun, it's sun is cool, always turn the sun, stay with me again. I had a down bell, somewhere far away lonely bell, again. Can I go through the canyon, like my distant, buried grave, oh yes, you did. All the Sunday morning sun, and I walked, oh I wish a Lord and I was alone. But I had something in it, funny, where it makes the mighty feeling long. And then my future, I'm dying, that's heaven's long, so make me sound. All the Sunday morning, coming down, and I'm going to sleep as a child. Sun and morning, coming down, coming down.