Well, I woke up Sunday morningWith no way to hold my head that didn't hurtAnd the beer I had for breakfast wasn't badSo I had one more for dessertThen I fumbled through my closet for my clothesAnd found my cleanest dirty shirtAnd I shaved my face and combed my hairAnd stumbled down the stairs to meet the dayI'd smoked my brain the night beforeOn cigarettes and songs that I'd been pickin'But I lit my first and watched a small kidCussin' at a can that he was kickin'Then I crossed the empty streetAnd caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chickenAnd it took me back to somethin'That I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the wayOn the Sunday morning sidewalksWishing, Lord, that I was stonedCause there's something in a SundayThat makes a body feel aloneAnd there's nothin' short of dyin'Half as lonesome as the soundOn the sleepin' city sidewalksSunday mornin' comin' downIn the park, I saw a daddyWith a laughing little girl who he was swingin'And I stopped beside a Sunday schoolAnd listened to the song that they were singin'Then I headed back for homeAnd somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin'And it echoed through the canyonsLike the disappearing dreams of yesterdayOn the Sunday morning sidewalksWishing, Lord, that I was stonedCause there's something in a SundayMakes a body feel aloneAnd there's nothin' short of dyin'Half as lonesome as the soundOn the sleepin' city sidewalkSunday mornin' comin' downDo, do, do, do, do, do, do, doDo, do, do, do, do, do, do, doDo, do, do, do, do, do, do, doDo, do, do, do, do, do, do, do
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Kristoffer Kristofferson (Brownsville, Texas; 22 de junio de 1936-Hana, Hawái; 28 de septiembre de 2024) fue compositor de música country, actor y cantante estadounidense ilustre por canciones como Me and Bobby McGee, For the Good Times, Sunday Mornin' Comin'…
