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