Lord, I must be dreamin'
What else could this be?
Everybody's screamin'
Runnin' for the sea

Holy lands are sinkin'
Birds take to the sky
The prophets all are stinkin' drunk
I know the reason why

Eyes are full of desire
Mind is so ill-at-ease
Everything is on fire
Shit piled up to the knees

Out of rhyme or reason, everyone's to blame
Children of the season, don't be lame

Sorry, you're so sorry
Don't be sorry

Man has known and now he's blown it
Upside down and hell's the only sound, we did an awful job
And now they say it's nobody's fault

Old San Andreas
Seventy years ago
Shove it up their Richters
Red lines stop and go

Noblemen of courage
Listen with their ears
Spoke without discouragin'
When no one really hears

One of these days you'll be sorry
Too many houses on the stilt
Three million years or just a story
Four on the floor up to the hilt

Out of rhyme or reason, everyone's to blame
Children of the season, don't be lame

Sorry, you're so sorry
Don't be sorry

Man has known and now he's blown it
Upside down and hell's the only sound, we did an awful job
And now we're just a little too late

Eyes are full of desire
Mind is so ill-at-ease
Everything is on fire
A shit piled up in debris

California showtime
Five o'clock's the news
Everybody's concubine was prone to take a snooze

Sorry, you're so sorry
Don't be sorry

Man has known and now he's blown it
Upside down and hell's the only sound, we did an awful job
And now we're just a little too late

Copyright: BMG Rights Management
Writer(s): Brad E Whitford, Steven Victor Tallarico