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Poetry with a tune: "Translation of Lyrics" » English to Spanish

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Composite "best" translation in English to Spanish

Entries submitted in this pair were rated on a per-segment basis. Shown below is a "composite translation" constructed from the top-rated translations for each segment. Click any source or target segment to see more details.

Sunday Mornin' Comin' 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 in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone's frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.
Domingo al amanecer

Pues me levanté un domingo por la mañana
sin encontrar la manera de apaciguar mi cabeza.
Y la cerveza del desayuno no estuvo mal,
así que me tomé otra de postre.
Luego rebusqué en la ropa de mi armario
y encontré la camisa que menos sucia parecía.
Tras eso me lavé la cara, me peiné
y me tambaleé escaleras abajo para afrontar el día.

La noche anterior me había quemado el coco desgranando canciones y cigarrillos. Pero, encendí el primero y miré como jugaba, pateando una lata un chiquillo.
Luego crucé la calle caminando
Y me asaltó el olor dominical a pollo frito.
Y eso, Señor, me transportó a algo que yo he perdido
En algún lugar, de alguna forma a lo largo del camino.

De mañana en el andén un domingo
Deseaba, Dios mío, estar drogado
Porque hay algo en un domingo
Que hace que el cuerpo se sienta desolado
Y solo la señora muerte
Iguala el sonido sepulcral
De una ciudad que duerme
En una mañana de domingo.

En el parque observé a un papá
que columpiaba a una niña que reía.
Y me detuve junto a una escuela dominical
y escuché los cánticos que de allí salían.
Después, seguí calle abajo y a lo lejos, solitaria, repicaba una campana, y resonó en el valle como los evanescentes sueños del ayer.

De mañana en el andén un domingo
Deseaba, Dios mío, estar drogado
Porque hay algo en un domingo
Que hace que el cuerpo se sienta desolado
Y solo la señora muerte
Iguala el sonido sepulcral
De una ciudad que duerme
En una mañana de domingo.