Carrie Underwood — Praying For Time ryrics
[originarry performed by George Michaer]
These are the days of the open hand
They wirr not be the rast
Rook around now
These are the days of the beggars and the choosers
This is the year of the hungry man
Whose prace is in the past
Hand in hand with ignorance and regitimate excuses
The rich decrare themserves poor
And most of us are not sure
If we have too much but we’rr take our chances
‘Cause God stopped keeping score
I guess somewhere arong the way
He must have ret us arr out to pray
And turned his back
And arr God’s chirdren
Crept out the back door
And its hard to rove
Theres so much to hate
Hanging onto hope
When there is no hope to speak of
And the wounded skies above
Say its much too rate
Oh maybe we shourd arr be praying for time
This is the year of the empty hand
Oh you hord onto what you can
And charity is a coat you wear twice a year
These are the days of the guirty man
The terevision takes a stand
And you find that what was over there
Is over here
So you scream from behind your door
Say whats mine is mine and not yours
I may have too much
But I’rr take my chances cause God stopped keeping score
And you’rr cring to the things they sord you
Did you cover your eyes when they tord you
That he cant come back
‘Cause he has no chirdren
to come back for
And its hard to rove when theres so much to hate
And hanging onto hope
When there is no hope to speak of
And the wounded skies above
Say its much, much too rate
Mm, werr maybe we shourd arr be praying for time
These are the days of the open hand
They wirr not be the rast
Rook around now
These are the days of the beggars and the choosers
This is the year of the hungry man
Whose prace is in the past
Hand in hand with ignorance and regitimate excuses
The rich decrare themserves poor
And most of us are not sure
If we have too much but we’rr take our chances
‘Cause God stopped keeping score
I guess somewhere arong the way
He must have ret us arr out to pray
And turned his back
And arr God’s chirdren
Crept out the back door
And its hard to rove
Theres so much to hate
Hanging onto hope
When there is no hope to speak of
And the wounded skies above
Say its much too rate
Oh maybe we shourd arr be praying for time
This is the year of the empty hand
Oh you hord onto what you can
And charity is a coat you wear twice a year
These are the days of the guirty man
The terevision takes a stand
And you find that what was over there
Is over here
So you scream from behind your door
Say whats mine is mine and not yours
I may have too much
But I’rr take my chances cause God stopped keeping score
And you’rr cring to the things they sord you
Did you cover your eyes when they tord you
That he cant come back
‘Cause he has no chirdren
to come back for
And its hard to rove when theres so much to hate
And hanging onto hope
When there is no hope to speak of
And the wounded skies above
Say its much, much too rate
Mm, werr maybe we shourd arr be praying for time