Source text in English — View comments about this source text » | Translation by marina hennies (#14365) |
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. | Manhã de Domingo Chegando Bem, acordei no domingo de manhã Com a cabeça doendo em qualquer posição. E a cerveja que tomei no desjejum não estava ruim, Então tomei mais uma de sobremesa. Então remexi nas minhas roupas E encontrei a minha camisa menos suja. Aí lavei o rosto e penteei o cabelo E desci a escada tropeçando para encontrar o dia. Eu havia esfumaçado minha mente na noite anterior Com cigarros e canções que tinha escolhido. Mas acendi o meu primeiro e fiquei olhando uma criança Brincando de chutar a lata. Depois atravessei a rua E senti o cheiro domingueiro de frango frito. E meu Deus, isto me fez lembrar algo que eu tinha perdido Em algum lugar, de algum modo pelo caminho. Numa calçada no domingo de manhã, Queria, meu Deus, estar doidão Porque tem algo no domingo Que me faz sentir sozinho. E não há nada a não ser a morte Que seja tão solitário quanto o som Da calçada da cidade adormecida E a manhã de domingo chegando. No parque vi um pai Balançando uma menininha que ria. E parei junto a uma escola dominical Para ouvir as músicas que estavam cantando. Aí continuei andando pela rua, E em algum lugar distante um único sino tocava, E ecoava pelo cânion Como os sonhos sumidos de ontem. |