| Lord I must be dreaming, what else could this be
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| Everybody’s screamin', runnin' for the sea
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| Holy lands are sinkin', birds take to the sky
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| The prophets all are stinkin' drunk, I know the reason why
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| Eyes are full of desire, mind is so ill at ease
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| Everything is on fire, shit piled up to the knees
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| Out of rhyme or reason, everyone’s to blame
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| Children of the season don’t be lame
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| Sorry, you’re so sorry, don’t be sorry
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| Man has known and now he’s blown it upside down
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| And hell’s the only sound
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| We did an awful job and now they say it’s nobody’s fault
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| Old Saint Andres seven years ago
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| Shove it up their richters, red lights stop and go
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| Noblemen of courage listen with their ears
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| Spoke but how discouragin' when no one really hears
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| One of these days you’ll be sorry, too many houses on the stilt
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| Three million years or just a story, four on the floor up to the hilt
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| Out of rhyme or reason, everyone’s to blame
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| Children of the season don’t be lame
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| Sorry, you’re so sorry, don’t be sorry
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| Man has known and now he’s blown it upside down
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| And hell’s the only sound
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| We did an awful job and now we’re just a little too late
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| Eyes are full of desire, mind is so ill at ease
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| Everything is on fire, shit piled up to the knees
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| California showtime, 5 o’clocks the news
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| Said everybody’s concubine was prone to take a snooze
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| Sorry, you’re so sorry, don’t be sorry
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| Man has known and now he’s blown it upside down
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| And hell’s the only sound
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| We did an awful job and now we’re just a little too late |