praying for time

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'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 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"