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 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 are sure If we have too much but we’ll take our chances ‘Cause God stopped keeping score
I guess somewhere along the way He must have let us all out to play And turned his back And all God’s children Crept out the door And it's hard to love There's so much to hate Hanging onto hope there is no hope to speak of And the wounded skies above Say it's much too late Oh maybe we should all be praying for time
This is the year of the empty hand Oh you hold onto what you can And charity is a coat you twice a year
These are the days of the guilty man 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 But I’ll take my chances cause God stopped keeping score And you’ll cling to the things they sold you Did you cover your eyes when they told you That he can't come ‘Cause he has no children to come back for
And it's hard to love when there's so much to hate And hanging onto hope When there is no hope to of And the wounded skies above Say it's much, much too late Mm, well maybe we should all be praying for time.