Source text in English — View comments about this source text » | Translation by Andreea Sepi, MCIL (X) (#14660) |
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. | Când se pogoară zori de duminică Ei, mă trezii duminică în zori Cu-o durere vârtoasă în ţeasta cea grea. Băui o bere la dejun şi-o bere la desert, Căci prima nu fusese rea. Apoi bâjbâii prin dulap după haine, Cea mai puţin soioasă cămaşă găsii. Îmi spălai faţa, îmi netezii părul Şi către-o nouă zi pe scări mă-mpleticii. În noaptea dinainte îmi afumasem mintea Cu ţigări şi cântece pe-alese. Dar o-aprinsei pe prima şi privii un pici Jucând cu o tinichea pase. Apoi trecui strada pustie Şi mirosii pui fript duminica de cineva. Şi, Doamne, mi-amintii de ceva pe care Undeva, pe drum, îl pierdusem cumva. În zori de duminică, pe-un trotuar, Îmi doresc, Doamne, să fi fost afumat. Fiindcă duminica îţi face trupul Să se simtă atât de-nsingurat. Nimic afar' de moarte nu e Nici pe departe-aşa-ncărcat de dor Ca glasul trotuarului adormit Când zori de duminică se pogor. În parc un tată văzui, Ce vesela-i copilă în leagăn şi-o dădea. Şi lângă-o şcoală de duminică mă oprii Să ascult cânturi ce-acolo se cântau. Apoi în josul străzii apucai, Undeva departe un clopot bătea tânguios, Răsunând prin tot canionul Ca visele scăpătate ale zilei ce-a fost. |