Released: August 13, 1990
Songwriter: George Michael
Producer: George Michael
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"
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
Did 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
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"
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
Did 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
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