About the song
Kris Kristofferson, a figure synonymous with the outlaw country movement of the 1970s, crafted a timeless masterpiece with “Sunday Morning Coming Down.” Released in 1970, this song has become a staple of the country music genre, resonating with listeners across generations.
The song’s introspective narrative delves into the melancholic aftermath of a night of heavy drinking and revelry. Kristofferson paints a vivid picture of a solitary figure waking up on a Sunday morning, grappling with the remnants of a debauched evening. The lyrics are filled with raw honesty and vulnerability, as the protagonist contemplates the emptiness of their actions and the toll it takes on their emotional well-being.
Musically, “Sunday Morning Coming Down” is characterized by its understated simplicity. Kristofferson’s soulful vocals, accompanied by gentle acoustic guitar strumming, create a melancholic and intimate atmosphere. The song’s sparse arrangement allows the lyrics to take center stage, emphasizing the emotional depth of the narrative.
The song’s enduring appeal lies in its ability to capture the universal human experience of regret and disillusionment. Kristofferson’s poignant lyrics and heartfelt delivery resonate with listeners who have faced similar struggles. “Sunday Morning Coming Down” serves as a poignant reminder of the consequences of excessive indulgence and the importance of finding solace and redemption.
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Lyrics
… 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 pickin’
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 fryin’ chicken
And Lord it took me back to something that I 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 nothin’ short of dyin’
That’s half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalks
And Sunday morning coming down
… In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughin’ 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 canyons
Like a 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 nothin’ short of dyin’
That’s half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleepin’ city sidewalks
And Sunday morning coming down