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.