These are the day 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
'Cause God's stopped keeping score
I guess somewhere along the way
He must have let us 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 onto 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
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