Source text in English — View comments about this source text » | Translation #14680 |
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 I probudih se u nedeljno jutro nikako da namjestim glavu da ne boli A pivo koje sam doručkovao nije bilo loše te popih još jedno za desert. Onda zateturah u ormar kroz odjeću i nađoh najčišću od prljavih majica zatim sam se umio i počešljao i sjurio stepenicama zagrliti dan Noć prije sam se napušio cigareta i pjesama koje sam birao. I zapalio sam prvu i gledao malo dijete kako se igra šutajući limenku Onda sam prešao cestu i uhvatio nedeljni miris pečene piletine i Bože, to me vrati u prošlost na nešto što izgubih Negdje, nekako usput. Na trotoaru u nedeljno jutro želim Bože da sam kamen. Jer nešto je u nedjeljnom danu da se čovjek osjeća sam. I ništa nije kratko a smrt je manje usamljena od zvuka trotoara grada koji spava dok se nedjeljno jutro spušta. U parku vidjeh nekog tatu kako njiše nasmijanu djevojčicu i zastadoh iza nedjeljne škole i poslušah pjesme koje su pjevali Onda sam krenuo ulicom A negdje u daljini usamljeno zvono ozdvanjalo je kanjonom kao jučerašnji snovi koji nestaju. |