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, oh yeah

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
Didn't 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, oh yeah