About the song
“Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down,” penned by the prolific Kris Kristofferson, is a seminal country song that has etched its place in music history through its evocative storytelling and soulful resonance. Originally recorded by Ray Stevens in 1969, the song gained widespread recognition when Johnny Cash’s rendition topped the Billboard US Country chart, solidifying its status as a classic.
Ray Stevens’ version of “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down” initially charted modestly, reaching No. 55 on the Billboard Hot Country Singles and No. 81 on the Hot 100 pop chart. Despite this, the song’s impact transcended its initial reception, earning a lasting legacy that continues to be celebrated decades later. In 2021, Rolling Stone honored the song by placing it at #476 on its prestigious “Top 500 Best Songs of All Time” list, underscoring its enduring appeal and cultural significance.
For Kristofferson, “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down” marked a turning point in his career. In a 2013 interview, he reflected on how the song opened doors and allowed him to pursue music full-time, freeing him from other work obligations. Its raw and introspective lyrics struck a chord with listeners, portraying a poignant narrative of loneliness and reflection on a Sunday morning, resonating with anyone who has experienced moments of solitude and contemplation.
Critically acclaimed for its authenticity and emotional depth, the song continues to garner accolades. Rolling Stone’s 2024 ranking of the “200 Greatest Country Songs of All Time” positioned “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down” at a respectable #96, highlighting its enduring impact and enduring relevance in the country music canon.
Kristofferson’s ability to capture universal themes of introspection and longing through his lyrics, coupled with his distinctive voice, has solidified “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down” as a timeless masterpiece. Its ability to evoke a vivid sense of melancholy and nostalgia ensures its place not only in country music history but also as a poignant reflection on the human condition itself.
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Lyrics
Well I woke up Sunday morning
with no way to hold my head,
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 combed my hair and
stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.I’d smoked my brain the night before on
cigarettes and songs that I’d been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
cussing at a can that he was kicking.
Then I crossed the empty street and caught the sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And it took me back to something
that I’d lost somehow
somewhere along the way.On this 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 short of dying,
half as lonesome as the sound,
on the sleeping city sidewalks,
Sunday morning coming down.In the park I saw a daddy
with a laughing little girl who he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school and listened to a sond that they was singing.
Then I headed back for home and somewhere far away
a lonely bell was ringing.
And it echoes through the canyons
like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.On this 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 short of dying,
half as lonesome as the sound,
on the sleeping city sidewalks,
Sunday morning coming down.
