Source text in English — View comments about this source text » | Translation by dukom (X) (#14375) |
Sunday Mornin' Comin' 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 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's 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. | Spušta se Nedeljno Jutro Probudih se u Nedelju ujutru Bez šanse da držim glavu bez bolova. I pivo za doručak nije bilo loše, Pa sam uzeo još jedno za desert. Onda sam u ormanu preturao po mojim stvarima I našao moju najčistiju prljavu košulju. Onda sam se umio i očešljao kosu I otkotrljao se niz stepenice u susret novom danu. Popušio sam svoj um prethodne noći Uz cigarete i odabrane pesme Ali pripalio sam prvu i gledao klinca Kako se igra šutirajući konzervu. Onda sam prešao preko puta ulice I osetio nedeljni miris nečije pržene piletine. I Gospode, to me je podsetilo na nešto što sam izgubio Negde, uz put nekako. Na nedeljnom jutarnjem trotoaru, Poželeo sam, Gospode, da sam naduvan. Jer ima nešto u Nedelji Što čini da se telo oseća usamljeno. I nema ničeg osim umiranja Što je upola usamljeno kao zvuk Uspavanog gradskog trotoara I Nedeljnog jutra koje se spušta. U parku sam video tatu Sa nasmejanom devojčicom koja se ljuljala I zastao sam pokraj Nedeljne škole I slušao pesme koje su pevali. Onda sam krenuo niz ulicu, I negde daleko, usamljeno zvono je zvonilo, I stvaralo eho u kanjonu Kao nestajući snovi od juče. |