 (Tyler, Whitford)
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 are all stinking 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 we'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 St. Andres
Seven years ago
Shove it up their richters
Red lines stop and go
Noblemen of courage
Listen with their ears
Spoke but how discouragin
When no one really hears
One of these day's a 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 we'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 we'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 aweful job
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