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These are the days of the
open hand
They will not be the last
Look around now
These are the days
of the beggars and the choosers
This is the year of the
hungry man
Whose place is in the past
Hand in hand with ignorance
And legitimate excuses
The rich declare themselves poor
And most of us are not sure
If we have too much
But we'll take our chances
Because god's stopped
keeping score
I guess somewhere
along the way
He must have let us all
out to play
Turned his back
and all god's children
Crept out the back door
And it's hard to love
there's so much to hate
Hanging on to hope
When there is no hope to speak of
And the wounded skies above
say it's much much too late
Well maybe we should all
be praying for time
These are the days of the
empty hand
Oh you hold on to
what you can
And charity
is a coat you wear
twice a year
This is the year of the
guilty man
Your television takes a stand
And you find
that what was over there
is over here
So you scream from
behind your door
Say what's mine is
mine and not yours
I may have too much
but I'll take my chances
Because god's stopped
keeping score
And you cling to the
things they sold you
Did you cover your
eyes when they told you
That he can't come back
Beacuse he has no children
to come back for
And it's hard to love
there's so much to hate
Hanging on to hope
When there is no hope to speak of
And the wounded skies above
say it's much too late
Well maybe we should all
be praying for time