These are the days of the open hands You hold on to what you can
And charity is a coat you wear twice a year
This is the year of the hungry man
Whose place is in the past and in hand
With ignorance and legitimate excuses
The rich declare themselves poor
And most of us are poor
We're not sure
We may have too much
But we'll take our chances
Cause God stopped keeping score
And we cling to the things they showed you
Did we 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, much too late
Maybe we should all
Be praying for time
This is the year of the empty hands
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
You hold on to what you can't have
And your television takes a stand
And you find out
That what was over there
Is over here
So you scream from behind your door
Say what's mine is mine, 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 showed you



Did you cover your eyes when they told you
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
Well maybe we should all
Be praying for time
Maybe we should all
Be praying for time
Thank you
Thank you guys
Thank you so much
Thank you