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

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Composite "best" translation in English to Romanian

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.
No top translation

Na, m-am trezit duminică dimineață
și nu era chip să-mi țin capul fără să mă doară.
Iar berea ce-am băut-o la micul dejun a fost bună,
așa că am mai băut una ca desert.
Apoi am scotocit prin hainele din dulap
Și am găsit cea mai curată cămașă murdară.
M-am spălat pe față și m-am pieptănat
Coborând scările împleticit, ca să întâmpin ziua.

În noaptea dinainte îmi afumasem mintea
Cu ţigări şi cântece pe-alese.
Dar o-aprinsei pe prima şi privii un pici
Jucând cu o tinichea pase.
Peste drum când am trecut,
A pui prăjit, ce bine, Doamne, mirosea!
Imaginea unui trecut,
demult uitat, în minte-mi renăştea.

Duminica, pe drum, devreme,
Aş vrea, oh, Doamne, beat să fiu;
Nu ştiu de ce, în ziua asta,
Te simţi mai singur, mai pustiu.
În tot ce-i trecător pe lume,
Ce poate fi cu mult mai trist
Ca-n zori, duminica, devreme,
Un pas stingher pe străzi trecând?!

În parc am văzut un tătic
Legănând o fetiţă ce râdea.
Şi m-am oprit lângă o şcoală de duminică
Şi-am ascultat cântecele pe care le cântau.
Trist se-aude apoi, în zare,
Glas de clopot singuratic răsunând.
Ecou'-n vale s-a pierdut
Ca visul bun ce, brusc, în zori, a dispărut.
.

Duminica, pe drum, devreme,
Aş vrea, oh, Doamne, beat să fiu;
Nu ştiu de ce, în ziua asta,
Te simţi mai singur, mai pustiu.
În tot ce-i trecător pe lume,
Ce poate fi cu mult mai trist
Ca-n zori, duminica, devreme,
Un pas stingher pe străzi trecând?!