Sunday Morning Coming Down - Kris Kristofferson

Aquesta cançó acaba la setmana temàtica. Amb diumenge o sense diumenge al títol, però, igualment mereix estar escoltada – és molt molt bona! Les cançons country sempre saben evocar les emocions d’una manera o una altra, i amb la melancolia de la guitarra i la veu, Kris ho encerta de ple.
Sunday Morning Comin Down (diumenge de matí, baixant). S’han fet moltes versions però em quedo en les de Kris Kristofferson, l’autor original. Kris va incloure aquest tema al seu LP Kristofferson a l’any 1970, però aquest clip é relativament recent.

This classic country and western song deserves to be here independently of whether or not it fits in with the “days of the week” theme – it’s fantastic! C&W songs always tend to stir the emotions and here, Kris’ voice and guitar hit just the right melancholic note.
Sunday Morning Coming Down (Kristofferson) has been recorded by many artists, but I’ll stick with the original by Kris Kristofferson. This single was off his first LP, Kristofferson, in 1970 – although today’s video clip is from a much more recent performance.

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 through my closet for my clothes,
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
And I shaved my face and combed my hair,
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.
I'd smoked my brain the night before,
On cigarettes and songs I'd been pickin'.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid,
Cussin' at a can that he was kicking.
Then I crossed the empty street,
And caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken.
And it took me back to somethin',
That I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the way.

On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin' city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin' comin' down.

In the park I saw a daddy,
With a laughin' little girl who he was swingin'.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school,
And listened to the song they were singin'.
Then I headed back for home,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin'.
And it echoed through the canyons,
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin' city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin' comin' down.