This 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

Turned His back and all God's children

Crept out the back door

(Chorus)

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

This is the year of the empty hand

Oh you hold on to what you can

And charity is a coat you wear twice a week

These are the days of the guilty men

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 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

Chorus