Source text in English — View comments about this source text » | Translation by Desere (#14921) |
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. | Sondag Oggend wat Neer Kom Wel, ek het Sondag môre wakker geword Met geen manier op my kop te hou dat dit nie pyn nie. En die bier wat ek vir ontbyt gehad het was nie sleg nie, So ek het nog een vir nagereg gehad. Toe het ek in my kas deur my klere gegrou En my skoonste hemp gevind. Toe het ek my gesig gewas en my hare gekam En by die trappe afgestrompel om die dag tegemoet te gaan. Ek het my kop die vorige nag voos gerook Met sigarette en liedjies wat ek gekies het Maar ek het my eerste een aangesteek en 'n klein kindjie dopgehou Wat met 'n blikkie gespeel het wat hy geskop het Toe loop ek oor die pad En vang die Sondag reuk van iemand wat hoender braai En Here, dit het my terug gevat na iets wat ek verloor het. Op 'n Sondag oggend sypadjie Wens ek, Here, dat ek gerook was Want daar's iets in 'n Sondag Wat 'n liggaam alleen laat voel En daar is niks behalwe doodgaan Wat die helfte so eensaam is soos die geluid Van die slapende stad sypadjie En Sondag oggend wat neer kom In die park sien ek 'n pappa Met 'n laggende dogtertjie wat hy laat swaai En ek het langs 'n Sondag skool gestop En geluister na die liedere wat hul gesing het Toe het ek in die pad afgeloop En iewers ver het 'n eensame klok gelui, En dit het deur die kloof weergalm Soos die kwynende drome van gister |