Вершы: Kris Kristofferson. Live At The Philharmonic. Sunday Morning Coming 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 desert
Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stair to meet the day

I'd smoke my brain the night before
With cigarettes and songs that I've been picking
But I lit my first and watched the small kid
Cussin' at a can that he was kicking
Then I acrossed the empty street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken
And it took me back to something
That I'd lost somehow somewhere along the way

On the Sunday morning sidewalk wishing Lord that I was stoned
Cause there's something in a Sunday makes a body feel alone
And there's nothing sure to dying half as lonesome as the sound
On the sleepin' city sidewalk Sunday morning coming down

In the park I saw a daddy
With the laughing little girl he was swinging
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs that they were singing
Then I headed back for home
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing
And it echoed through the canyons
Like a disappearing dream of yesterday

On the Sunday morning sidewalk...