Source text in English — View comments about this source text » | Translation by Manuel Figueroa (#14422) |
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. | Es domingo y estoy solo Ha llegado otro domingo, desperté y en mi cabeza... ¡un gran dolor! desayuno una cerveza... no está mal y tome otra.. ¡para el valor! Luego busco en el ropero, la cami- -sa menos sucia, ¡que labor! Finjo un baño aquí, un peinado allá y salgo al fin de ahí… saludo al sol! Anoche yo, ya me fumé la mente, el corazón... mi destino! pero aun así, enciendo otro, para mí una luz en el camino. Y comienzo a caminar y un dulce aroma me recuerda cosas bellas, ¡Y Dios, me recordó a aquella, a quien perdí ¿por ti, por mí? un tiempo atrás. Es domingo y estoy solo, no está ya más a quien yo amé. Ella siempre te buscaba, no sé Señor si yo lo haré. Yo sé, Señor tu sabes todo, y tus razones tú tendrás, pero yo Señor ignoro, si mi dolor tú quitarás. Las parejas en el parque me recuerdan que yo alguna vez amé. Y los cantos de la iglesia gris sin ella ya no pueden consolarme Así que me fui de ahí-í llevando solo odio, fuego y furia en mi y una flor cayó en mi mano y dudé, pensé... pensé... volver a ti |