Fair use - no copyright infringement intended.
From Kris' debut album "Kristofferson" (1970)
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No-one else has ever sung this song with so much sadness and despair in his voice...
The scenes for my video are from
"Cisco Pike" (1971)
"Trouble in mind" (1985)
"Heaven's Gate" (1980)
"Semi-tough" (1977)
"A star is born" (1976)
a tiny scene is from the bio -docu about Kris and
a tiny effect is from "Millenium"
Kris said in an interview, "This song probably was the most directly autobiographical thing I had written. In those days I was living in a slum tenement that was torn down afterwards, but it was 25 dollars a month in a condemned building, and "Sunday Morning Coming Down" was more or less looking around me and writing about what I was doing. One time, some people broke into that place, and I had to call the police station to answer some questions about it, and the guy said, "Yeah, they really trashed the place when they went in there." But I hadn't noticed that it was any different. There were holes in the wall bigger than I was. It was quite a place, so "Sunday Morning Coming Down" is kind of more or less what I was living at that time. I guess it was depressing, I don't know, but the chorus was kind of uplifting. ... What I was really trying to do was to keep the feeling of loss and of sadness. For me at that time, it was the loss of my family and looking at a little kid swinging on a swing and his daddy pushing him. That was the feeling I wanted to get for the whole song. I think Sunday was the choice because the bars were closed in the morning and nobody was at work, so if you were alone, it was the most alone time..."
Sunday Morning coming down
Kris Kristofferson
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 (washed) my face and combed my hair
and stumbled down the stairs to meet the day
I'd smoked so much the night before,
my mouth was like an ashtray I'd been licking
(I'd smoked my brain the night before on cigarettes and songs
that I've been pickin')
but I lit my first and watched a small kid
cussin' at a can that he was kicking
then I crossed the empty street
and caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken,
and it took me back to somethin'
that I'd lost somehow somewhere along the way
On the Sunday morning sidewalks
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'
half as lonesome as the sound
on the sleepin' city sidewalks
Sunday mornin' comin' down
In the park I saw a daddy
with a laughing little girl who he was swingin'
and I stopped beside a Sunday school
and listened to the 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.
Sunday Morning coming down
Ich wachte auf am Sonntagmorgen,
fand keine Möglichkeit, meinen Kopf zu halten
ohne dass er schmerzte.
Und das Bier, das ich zum Frühstück hatte war nicht schlecht,
so nahm ich noch eins zum Nachtisch.
Dann tastete ich mich durch meinen Kleiderschrank
nach meinen Klamotten
und fand mein sauberstes Schmutzhemd.
Und ich rasierte (später: wusch ich) mein Gesicht
und kämmte meine Haare
Und stolperte die Treppe runter, um den Tag zu treffen.
Ich hatte die Nacht zuvor so viel geraucht,
dass mein Mund wie ein Aschenbecher war, den ich ausleckte
(später: ich hab die Nacht zuvor meinen Verstand verqualmt
mit Zigaretten und Songs, die ich spielte)
aber ich zündete mir die erste an und beobachtete einen kleinen Jungen,
wie er auf eine Dose fluchte, die er kickte
(Johnny fluchte nicht, er spielte nur mit der Dose).
Dann überquerte ich die leere Straße
und fing den sonntäglichen Geruch von einem Braten ein
und der brachte mich zurück zu etwas,
das ich irgendwie irgendwo auf meinem Weg verloren hatte.
Auf den Gehwegen am Sonntagmorgen
wünschte ich bei Gott, ich wäre berauscht.
Weil da ist etwas an einem Sonntag,
das einen dazu bringt, sich ganz allein zu fühlen.
Und es gibt nichts so nah am Sterben
halb so einsam wie den Klang
auf den verschlafenen Gehwegen der Stadt,
wenn man sich am Sonntagmorgen vom Rausch der letzten Nacht erholt.
Im Park sah ich einen Papa
mit einem lachenden kleinen Mädchen,
das er schaukelte.
Und ich hielt an einer Sonntagsschule
und lauschte dem Lied, das sie sangen.
Dann ging ich zurück nach Hause und
hörte irgendwo in der Ferne eine einsame Glocke läuten,
und das Echo hallte durch die Schlucht
wie die verschwindenden Träume von gestern.
Auf den Gehwegen am Sonntagmorgen...
