For Saints, (George Michaels "Praying for time")

 

These are the days of the broken palm

They might as well be the last

Look around, again

These are the days of the killers and the losers

 

This is the year of the starving man

Whose place is never found

Hand in hand is in the past

And illegitimate reasons

 

The poor declare themselves free

And none of us are ever sure

If we want too much

But we'll deny our chances

'Cause God's stopped, He's Stopped

I guess sometime along the way

He must have let us all run away

Didn't look back and all God's angels

Ran for the north shore

 

And What is love, Who says who to hate

Hanging on a rope

When there is no rope or hope dove

And the blackened skies above say it's been fun but lasted to late

Well maybe we should all be praying in Rhyme.

 

These are the days of the broken palm

Oh you hold on to keep your calm

And charity is a memory of a book wrote to hide fear

 

This was the year of the missing man

Your television rules the land

And you find that what was over, is not over, is over.

 

So you scream from behind your eyes

Say it's time for time and hearing cries

I may not be much but I'll get my glances

'Cause God's stopped not here anymore

And you burn the things they sold you

You opened your eyes when they told you

That he won't come back

'Cause his children grew up and aren't his anymore.

 

What is love? Who says Who's to hate

Hanging on the rope when there is no rope or gallows to hang from

And the blackened skies above say isn't this great

So maybe we should all be praying in rhyme.