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
‘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 back door
And it's hard to love
There's so much to hate
Hanging onto hope
When 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 wear twice a year

These are the days of the guilty man
The 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 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 back
‘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 speak of
And the wounded skies above
Say it's much, much too late
Mm, well maybe we should all
be praying for time.