The Day

The Day was written in a hotel room in Spain at dawn when I hadn’t slept. It was a beautiful hotel room, a beautiful perfect hotel room and it was six or seven in the morning. I wrote it on a acoustic guitar and recorded it on my phone, brought it home and re-recorded it with old broken down electronics that I have in my studio.

— Moby

________

I try to know when to leave 
She sits in the bedroom and grieves 
There's a sequence that starts all again 
She can't get up anymore with the pain 
 [bad word] of these [bad word] 
Has left her hopeless and lost 
She wants to count the ways 
But she can't count again 

 [bad word]  
I will be right here 
'til all the pain 
Just disappear 
I will always stay 
'til all this light 
Just kills the day 

I strangle my words 
Once, I tried a thousand times 
Slaughtered like Gods 
When the silver shines so hard 

 
I tried to poison my life 
Always dreaming of the edge of the knife 
She always looked backwards 
And I can sit here for even ten minutes or more 

 [bad word] 

Oh hold on 
Oh hold on 
Oh hold on 
Just try again 

 [bad word] 

Oh hold on 
Oh hold on 
Oh hold on 
Just try again