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These are the days of the
open hand
They might just 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
'Cause 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 too 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
'Cause 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
'Cause he has no children
to come back for
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
So maybe we should all
be praying for time