Sorry, sorry sight.
Outlook for our land is gray
because on this summer's day
my eyes see Bush's darkness of the soul.

Blood runs down the hills
from men the insurgent kills
gives us pause and gives us chills
'cause we were told that "we " had freed that land.

Now I understand
what they tried to say to me
and how we suffered from insanity
how we don't seem to be free.
I did not listen, I did not know how.
I guess I'll listen now.

Sorry, sorry sight.
Folks on unemployment line.
Bush thinks all they do is whine.
At least they're not drowned by a hurricane.

This was so insane
vacation on a desert plot.
Bush goes there when he should not.
He likes the "chief" but doesn't know "command."

Now I understand
what they tried to say to me
and how we suffered from insanity
how we don't seem to be free.
I did not listen, I did not know how.
I guess I'll listen now.

For I could not see him
even when things looked grim.
And when no hope was left in sight
on that bleak November night
he took my vote as liars often do.
But I could have told you, Georgie
this world was never meant
for one as horrible as you.

Sorry, sorry sight.
People giving bold untruths.
Empty heads in empty suits
they spin the news and hope that we'll forget.

Like the puppet that we've met
only thing our land now grows
is distance of pretender's nose.
We're crushed and broken
waiting 'til he'll go.

Some, they still don't know
what I finally did see
of how we suffered from insanity
how we don't seem to be free.
They did not listen, they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will.