Sunday Mornin' Coming Down

A little bonus. The linked YouTube performance was recorded at a Johnny Cash tribute. Johnny recorded the song and started Kris' mainstream road to fame. Some of us had already embraced his wisdom and lyrics as we listened to his first album in 1970.
The performance is by Kris and The Foo Fighters.
Kris Kristofferson. One hell of a songwriter. A Dylanesque voice that you either embrace or hate. In this one he captures that Sunday morning feeling that all of us have experienced. Maybe in college. Or when you were single. Divorced and between marriages. The morning after you passed out at a friend's apartment. The hangover-induced headache. The self pity. The lonesome desperation. "It echoed through the canyons like the disappearing dreams of yesterday."
The pitiful deal with God that you would never do it again.
"There ain't nothin' short of dying half as lonesome as the sound on the sleeping city sidewalks - Sunday morning coming down."

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 dessert.
Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes,
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
An' I shaved my face and combed my hair,
An' stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my brain the night before,
On cigarettes and songs I'd 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,
'n 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 sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
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 laughin' little girl who he was swingin'.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school,
And listened to the song 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.

On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
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.