Source text in English — View comments about this source text » | Translation by Katarina Peters (#14416) — Winner |
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 vem chegando Bem, na manhã de domingo eu acordei Sem que pudesse erguer a cabeça sem doer Meu café da manhã foi uma boa cerveja E de tão boa tomei outra de sobremesa. Remexi o armário procurando uma roupa E encontrei a camisa suja mais limpa Então, penteei o cabelo, lavei o rosto E tropecei pela escada pra saudar o dia. Fumei pra valer na noite passada Escolhendo os cigarros e as canções Acendi o primeiro e vi um molequinho Brincando com uma lata que chutava Atravessei então a rua pro outro lado E senti o cheiro dominical de frango assado Que me levou, por Deus, de volta ao passado Perdido não sei onde pelo caminho Na manhã de domingo numa calçada Por Deus, queria estar embriagado Pois tem qualquer coisa num domingo Que faz o corpo se sentir abandonado. E a não ser a morte, não há nada Mais triste que o som da calçada vazia De uma cidade que está dormindo Quando a manhã de domingo vem chegando No parque eu vi um pai Com uma menina sorridente se balançar E parei ao lado de uma escola dominical E suas canções eu me pus a escutar Depois fui andando rua abaixo Muito longe, ouvi um sino tocar E o eco soava através da montanha Como os sonhos que paramos de sonhar |