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