So, I rub my eyes.
Hangover fucking morning.
No one came to me.
I’m a bit of stoned.
Thanks.. For yesterday.
And all the talks we had of
How are you broke, if
Nobody really talking
To.
To.
To you.
And to your inner problems.
All, except of me,
Are here down for goodies.
[chorus]
How… To. Start… My… Day.
Nobody asks for clues.
I… Will… Take… Cocaine.
And set vinyl on blues.
I… Shall… Take… Control.
Of what I’m really doing
But… I’m… Sick….Of… It.
And I’m lost in grooving.
How… To. Start… My… Day.
Nobody asks for clues.
I… Will… Take… Cocaine.
And set vinyl on blues.
I… Shall… Take… Control.
Of what I’m really doing
But… I’m… Sick….Of… It.
And I’m lost in grooving.
[verse]
Wake up! Get lost in grooves.
Follow my path, you’re joking.
Kill…
The pain inside…
it fades when you are talking.
Look…
Into my eyes…
And see what’s really matters.
Come with me to hell,
To dirty room with mattress.
[chorus]
How… To. Start… Your… Day.
Nobody asks for clues.
You… Will… Take… Cocaine.
And set vinyl on blues.
You… Shall… Take… Control.
Of what I’m really doing
But… You’re… Sick….Of… It.
And I’m lost in grooving.
[instrumental break]
[verse]
How do you feel? Alive?
Or you’re continuing joking?
All the walls around –
They look like they’re soaking.
Take me all. I feel.
It’s really taking breath now.
Let us to be free,
Inside each other, so…
[chorus]
How… To. Start… My… Day.
Nobody asks for clues.
I… Will… Take… Cocaine.
And set vinyl on blues.
I… Shall… Take… Control.
Of what I’m really doing
But… I’m… Sick….Of… It.
And I’m lost in grooving.
How… To. Start… Your… Day.
Nobody asks for clues.
You… Will… Take… Cocaine.
And set vinyl on blues.
You… Shall… Take… Control.
Of what I’m really doing
But… You’re… Sick….Of… It.
And I’m lost in grooving.
[chorus]
How… To. Start… My… Day.
Nobody asks for clues.
I… Will… Take… Cocaine.
And set vinyl on blues.
I… Shall… Take… Control.
Of what I’m really doing
But… I’m… Sick….Of… It.
And I’m lost in grooving.
How… To. Start… Your… Day.
Nobody asks for clues.
You… Will… Take… Cocaine.
And set vinyl on blues.
You… Shall… Take… Control.
Of what I’m really doing
But… You’re… Sick….Of… It.
And I’m lost in grooving.