Sunday Morning Coming Down

Kris KristoffersonKris Kristoffer… 

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Kris Kristofferson

Kristoffer "Kris" Kristofferson, BPhil (born June 22, 1936) is an American country music singer, songwriter and musician as well as a film actor. He is known for such hits as "Me and Bobby McGee", "For the Good Times", "Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down", and "Help Me Make It Through the Night". Kristofferson is the sole writer of most of his songs, and he has collaborated with various other figures of the Nashville scene such as Shel Silverstein. In 1985, Kristofferson joined fellow country artists Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash in forming the country music supergroup "The Highwaymen". In 2004 Kristofferson was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame. more »

Year:

1977

4:31

699 Views

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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 through my closet,
For my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt
And I shaved my face and combed my hair,
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day

I'd smoked my brain the night before on cigarettes and songs 
That I'd been pickin'
But I lit my first, and watched a small kid cussin' at a can 
That he was kickin'
Then I crossed the empty street and caught the Sunday smell 
Of someone fryin'chickin
And it took me back to somethin' that I had lost somehow, 
Somewhere along the way

[Chorus]
On the Sunday morning sidewalk, wishin' Lord that I was stoned
Cause there is something in a Sunday, makes a body feel alone
And there is nothing short of die'n, half a lonesome as the sound
On the sleepin' city sidewalks, Sunday morning coming down

In the park I saw a daddy, 
With 'w(?)' laughin' little girl who he was swingin'
And I stopped beside a Sunday school,
And listened to a song that they were singin'
Then I headed back for home and somewhere far away
A lonely bell was ringin'
And it echoed through the canyons like the disappearing dreams 
Of yesterday

[Chorus] 
On the Sunday morning sidewalk, wishing Lord that I was stoned
Cause there is something in a Sunday, make a body feel alone
And there is nothing short of die'n, half a lonesome as the sound
On the sleepin' city sidewalks, Sunday morning coming do

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