About the song
There are few songs in American music that capture loneliness, regret, and quiet reflection with the honesty and poetic force of Kris Kristofferson – Sunday Morning Coming Down. First released in 1970 and made popular by Johnny Cash’s version, this song remains most powerful when traced back to the man who wrote it—Kristofferson himself. With his raspy voice, plainspoken delivery, and remarkable gift for turning everyday experiences into lyrical gold, Kris Kristofferson – Sunday Morning Coming Down stands as one of the most personal and enduring songs in country music history.
The song tells the story of a man waking up alone on a Sunday morning after a long night of drinking and emotional unrest. He walks the quiet streets, smoking a cigarette, feeling out of place as the world around him resumes its peaceful, routine life. The smell of fried chicken, the sound of church bells, and the sight of families enjoying their day—all of it serves to remind him of what he’s lost, or perhaps what he’s never had. There’s a heavy sense of spiritual and emotional emptiness running through every line, expressed not with bitterness, but with quiet resignation.
Kristofferson’s brilliance lies in how he takes something as simple as a Sunday morning and turns it into a symbol of longing, of searching for meaning in a world that feels distant and unforgiving. His performance of the song isn’t flashy; instead, it’s understated, raw, and deeply human. He sings not as a superstar, but as someone who’s been there—someone who knows what it means to feel alone in a crowd.
Kris Kristofferson – Sunday Morning Coming Down isn’t just a country song—it’s a meditation on life, aging, and the fragile spaces between joy and sorrow. For older listeners especially, the song may feel like an old companion—honest, weathered, and quietly profound. It’s a reminder that the best songs don’t always try to lift us up. Sometimes, they simply let us feel seen.
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Lyrics
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
And I shaved my face and combed my hair,
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the dayI’d smoked my brain the night before on cigarettes and songs
That I’d been pickin’
But I lit my first, and watched a small kid cussin’ at a can
That he was kickin’
Then I crossed the empty street and caught the Sunday smell
Of someone fryin’chickin
And it took me back to somethin’ that I had lost somehow,
Somewhere along the way[Chorus]
On the Sunday morning sidewalk, wishin’ Lord that I was stoned
Cause there is something in a Sunday, makes a body feel alone
And there is nothing short of die’n, half a lonesome as the sound
On the sleepin’ city sidewalks, Sunday morning coming downIn the park I saw a daddy,
With ‘w(?)’ laughin’ little girl who he was swingin’
And I stopped beside a Sunday school,
And listened to a song that 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[Chorus]
On the Sunday morning sidewalk, wishing Lord that I was stoned
Cause there is something in a Sunday, make a body feel alone
And there is nothing short of die’n, half a lonesome as the sound
On the sleepin’ city sidewalks, Sunday morning coming do
