“Scroll down to the end of the article to listen to music.”
Introduction
Sunday Morning Coming Down: A Portrait of Post-Party Blues
“Sunday Morning Coming Down,” a timeless masterpiece penned by Kris Kristofferson, is more than just a country ballad; it’s a poignant reflection on the aftermath of a night of excess. This raw and honest portrayal of loneliness and regret has resonated with audiences for decades, solidifying its status as a cornerstone of American music.
Born amidst the tumultuous 1960s, Kristofferson was a man of contradictions. A Rhodes Scholar and former Army officer, he found himself drawn to the gritty world of Nashville songwriting. It was during this period of disillusionment and financial struggle that he crafted the lyrics to “Sunday Morning Coming Down.” Living in a dilapidated apartment while working as a janitor for Columbia Records, Kristofferson channeled his own experiences into a song that captured the universal human experience of longing and despair.
Originally recorded by Ray Stevens in 1969, the song truly found its voice when Johnny Cash delivered a haunting rendition that topped the country charts in 1970. Cash’s deep, resonant vocals perfectly complemented the song’s melancholic tone, transforming it into an anthem for those grappling with the consequences of their actions.
Beyond its commercial success, “Sunday Morning Coming Down” has endured as a testament to Kristofferson’s songwriting genius. The song’s enduring appeal lies in its ability to evoke a profound sense of empathy. By laying bare the vulnerability of the narrator, Kristofferson invites listeners to share in the pain and isolation experienced during those bleak Sunday mornings.
In the years since its release, “Sunday Morning Coming Down” has been covered by countless artists, each adding their own interpretation to the song’s core message. Its enduring legacy is a testament to its timeless quality and Kristofferson’s ability to capture the human condition with raw and unflinching honesty.
Video
Lyrics
Well I woke up Sunday morning
with no way to hold my head that it 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 my face and I combed my hair and
stumbled down the stairs to meet the day
I smoked my brain the night before
with cigarettes and songs that I had been pickin’
But I it my first and watched a small kid
c[Am]ussin’ at a can that he was k[G]ickin’
And 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 somewhere somehow along the way
On the Sunday mornin’ sidewalk
wishin’ Lord that I was stone
’cause there’s somethin’ in Sunday
that makes a body feel alone
and there’s nothing short of dyin’
half as lonesome as the sound
of a sleepin’ city sidewalk
Sunday mornin’ comin’ down
In the park I saw a daddy
with a laughing little girl that he was swingin’
and I stopped beside a Sunday school
and li[Am]stened to the songs that they were singin’
and I headed back for home
and somewhere faraway a lonely bell was ringin’
and it echoed through the canyon
like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.