Lord, I must be dreamin'
What else could this be?
Everybody's screamin'
Runnin' for the seaHoly lands are sinkin'
Birds take to the sky
The prophets all are stinkin' drunk
I know the reason whyEyes are full of desire
Mind is so ill-at-ease
Everything is on fire
Shit piled up to the kneesOut of rhyme or reason, everyone's to blame
Children of the season, don't be lameSorry, you're so sorry
Don't be sorryMan 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 faultOld San Andreas
Seven years ago
Shove it up their Richters
Red lines stop and goNoblemen of courage
Listen with their ears
Spoke without discouragin'
When no one really hearsOne 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 hiltOut of rhyme or reason, everyone's to blame
Children of the season, don't be lameSorry, you're so sorry
Don't be sorryMan 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 lateEyes are full of desire
Mind is so ill-at-ease
Everything is on fire
Our shit's piled up in debrisCalifornia showtime
Five o'clock's the news
Everybody's concubine was prone to take a snoozeSorry, you're so sorry
Don't be sorryMan 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
Songwriters
BRAD E WHITFORD, STEVEN VICTOR TALLARICOPublished by
Lyrics © BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC