Woah-yeah

Mmmm

do-do-doo-oh...

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

Because 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

it's much too late

Well maybe we should

all be praying for time

Do-do-doo, oh-oh...

These are the days

of the empty hand

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

Because 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

Because 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

Do-do-doo

Oh-oh-oh-yeah