Day By Day
Jazzanova & Lounge - Shakatak With Al Jarreau Lyrics

You drive your car in, pull it up on the rack
You arrive to get your car fixed and park it in the garage

You promise me faithlessly that you'll be back
You make empty promises to return

I wait in the pit, it's the fate I have earned
I wait for your return, as it is the destiny I've been assigned

For believing some day you'll return
I believed that you would come back someday

To the streets of New York from my tower of song
From my creative space high above the city, I long to return to the streets

I come down to work where the common folk throng
I leave my tower to work among the everyday people

In my famous blue shirt with its patch that says Len
I wear my distinctive blue shirt that identifies me as Len

Then I go back to write songs again
After work, I return to my tower and resume writing songs

Leonard Cohen is working a day job they say
There's a rumor that Leonard Cohen works a regular job for money

For bizarre inspiration and hourly pay
Perhaps he does so for strange inspiration and minimum wage

And I swear by the grease in the crease of my hand
I promise by the dirt on my hands

If you need speedy lubin', I'll prove I'm your man
If you need quick oiling, I'm your guy

I'll beg if I must, 'cause I'm aching to hear Your story, as I check your brakes front and rear
I'll plead if I have to because I'm anxious to hear you talk while I inspect your car

Can you play a sad waltz on your cheap violin Did you have a good time in Berlin
Can you play a sorrowful tune on your affordable instrument? Did you enjoy your trip to Berlin?

If Saint Joan should pull in, in her Charger of white And ask if it all could be finished tonight I'd say, "Let me take a look under your hood All that smoke doesn't look very good" I'm on fire
If Saint Joan (or anyone else) drove in and asked me to finish the job tonight, I'd say sure, but your car looks like it's smoking too much. I'm working hard to please you

Leonard Cohen is working a day job they say It's part of the price every artist must pay
It's rumored that Leonard Cohen works a regular job: such is the price of being an artist

And I swear by the crud and the blood on my hands If you need a tune this afternoon I'm your man
I promise by the dirt and wounds on my hands, if you need a song this afternoon, I'm your guy

And I swear by the monkey wrench clenched in my hand If you lack something basic in black I'm your man
I promise by the wrench in my hand, if you need something basic in black, I'm your guy