About the song
Have you ever woken up on a Sunday morning feeling a little lost and alone? Kris Kristofferson captures that familiar feeling of melancholy perfectly in his timeless classic, “Sunday Morning Coming Down.” Released in 1969, this song has resonated with countless listeners over the decades, proving that some emotions are universal.
Kristofferson’s poignant lyrics paint a vivid picture of a solitary figure nursing a hangover and grappling with the aftermath of a wild night. The imagery is both relatable and evocative, transporting listeners to a place of quiet reflection. With lines like “I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my hand,” Kristofferson taps into the universal human experience of loneliness and longing.
What truly sets this song apart is its raw honesty and authenticity. Kristofferson’s voice, with its distinctive rasp, conveys a sense of weariness and world-weariness that is both heartbreaking and comforting. The melody is simple yet haunting, creating a backdrop that perfectly complements the lyrics.
“Sunday Morning Coming Down” is more than just a country song; it’s a meditation on the human condition. It’s a song about the fleeting nature of pleasure, the inevitability of heartache, and the enduring power of hope. Whether you’re a longtime fan of country music or simply appreciate a well-written song, this is one that you’ll want to add to your playlist.
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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