A few weeks later, Bono stood in a recording studio, staring at the lyric sheet. The headphones were placed over his ears, and the engineer pressed play.
Producer Andy Gill knew there was only one person who could fill that space. He picked up the phone and called Dublin.
He stepped up to the microphone. He didn't warm up. He wanted the raw, unvarnished emotion of the moment.
But it was incomplete. It lacked a counterpoint. It needed a voice that could answer Michael from across the void.
Bono knew he couldn't just sing at the track. He had to sing with Michael. He had to create a bridge between the living and the dead.
It was ghostly. Hearing his friend's voice, so vibrant yet so heavy with the premonition of his own end, struck Bono like a physical blow. For a moment, the U2 frontman just stood there, letting the music wash over him. The track was driven by a trip-hop beat, a pulsating bassline, and a melancholic guitar that sounded like crying.