Source text in English — View comments about this source text » | Translation #14677 |
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. | Dimineaţa de duminică În zori, duminică, mă scol - Greu ca plumbul, capul nu mă doare. Beau o bere drept cafea - nu e rea! - Mai beau una la gustare. Prin dulap apoi cotrobăi, O cămaşă mai curată să găsesc; Mă spăl, mă rad, încă-ameţit, În căutarea zilei o pornesc. În ajun mă drogasem cu ţigări şi la ghitară zdrăngănind; Am tras totuşi primul fum, Un puşti ce fotbal singur se juca, privind. Peste drum când am trecut, A pui prăjit, ce bine, Doamne, mirosea! Imaginea unui trecut, demult uitat, în minte-mi renăştea. Duminica, pe drum, devreme, Aş vrea, oh, Doamne, beat să fiu; Nu ştiu de ce, în ziua asta, Te simţi mai singur, mai pustiu. În tot ce-i trecător pe lume, Ce poate fi cu mult mai trist Ca-n zori, duminica, devreme, Un pas stingher pe străzi trecând?! O fetiţă râde-n parc, Vesel, dată-n leagăn de al ei tătic, Se-aud cântece la şcoală; mă opresc O clipă, stau şi-ascult un pic. Trist se-aude apoi, în zare, Glas de clopot singuratic răsunând. Ecou'-n vale s-a pierdut Ca visul bun ce, brusc, în zori, a dispărut. . |
Discussion about Poetry with a tune: "Translation of Lyrics" in English to Romanian - Entry #14677 | |||||||||
---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
Endre Both Németország Local time: 20:34 angol - német
| |||||||||
ANDA PENA RO Tag (2012 óta) francia - román + ...
|
Sign in to add a comment |
A fórum moderátora(i) | |
Lucia Leszinsky | [Call to this topic] |