These are the days of the open hand
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They might just be the last
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Look around now
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These are the days of the beggars and the choosers
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This is the year of the hungry man
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Whose place is in the past
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Hand in hand with ignorance
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And legitimate excuses
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The rich declare themselves poor
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And most of us are not sure If we have too much
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But we¢¥ll take our chances
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¢¥Cause God¢¥s stopped keeping score
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°¡³ÇÑ »ç¶÷µéÀÇ ½Ã´ë
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±×µéÀº Èûµé°Å¿¡¿ä
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ÁÖÀ§¸¦ µÑ·¯ºÁ¿ä
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°¡³¹ðÀÌ¿Í ¿©À¯·Î¿î Àڵ鸸ÀÌ ÀÖÁÒ
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°ú°Å¿¡ È·ÁÇß´ø ¹è°íÇ À̵éÀÇ ½Ã´ëÀÌÁÒ
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¹«½Ã¿Í ÇÕ¹ýÀû º¯¸íÀ¸·Î ºÎÀÚµéÀº ¼·Î Çù·ÂÇÏ¿© ÀڽŵéÀÌ °¡³ÇÏ´Ù°í ¼±¾ðÇßÁÒ
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¿ì¸®µé ´ëºÎºÐÀº ¿ì¸®°¡ ³Ê¹« ¸¹ÀÌ °¡Á³´ÂÁö ¾Æ´ÑÁö È®½ÅÇÏÁö ¸øÇØ¿ä
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ÇÏÁö¸¸ ¿ì¸®´Â ¸ðÇèÀ» °¨ÇàÇÒ°Ì´Ï´Ù , ¿Ö³ÄÇÏ¸é ½ÅÀÌ °è¼Ó »õ±âÁö ¾Ê잫¾Æ¿ä
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I guess somewhere along the way
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He must have let us all out to play
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Turned his back and all God¢¥s children
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Crept out the back door
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And it¢¥s hard to love, there¢¥s so much to hate
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Hanging on to hope
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When there is no hope to speak of
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And the wounded skies above
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Say it¢¥s much too much too late
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Well maybe we should all be praying for time
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½Å²²¼ ÀÌ ±æÀ» µû¶ó ¾îµò°¡¿¡ ¿ì¸® ¸ðµÎ¸¦ ¹Û¿¡ ³ª¿À°Ô ÇÑ°Ç Æ²¸²¾øÁÒ
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½ÅÀº µîÀ» µ¹·È°í ½ÅÀÇ ÀÚ¼ÕµéÀº µÞ¹®À¸·Î ±â¾î ³ª¿ÔÁÒ
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»ç¶ûÇϱâ´Â ¾î·Æ°í ¹Ì¿öÇÒ °ÍÀº ¸¹ÁÒ
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¸»ÇÒ¸¸ÇÑ Èñ¸ÁÀÌ ¾øÀ»¶§ ¿ì¸®´Â Èñ¸Á¿¡ ¸Å´Þ¸®ÁÒ
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±×¸®°í Àú À§ÀÇ »óó¹ÞÀº ÇÏ´ÃÀº ÀÌÁ¦ ³Ê¹« ´Ê¾î¹ö·È´Ù°í ¸»ÇÏÁÒ
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¿ì¸®´Â ½Ã´ë¸¦ À§ÇØ ±âµµ¸¦ ÇØ¾ß ÇϰÚÁÒ
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These are the days of the empty hand
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Oh you hold on to what you can
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And charity is a coat you wear twice a year
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This is the year of the guilty man
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Your television takes a stand
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And you find that what was over there is over here
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So you scream from behind your door
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Say what¢¥s mine is mine and not yours
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¾ß¹ÚÇϱ⸸ ÇÑ ¿À´Ã³¯
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±×´ë´Â ÇÒ ¼ö Àִ°Ϳ¡¸¸ ÀÇÁöÇÏÁÒ
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À§¾ÈÀ» ÁÖ´Â °ÍÀº Àϳ⿡ µÎ¹ø ÀÔ´Â ÄÚÆ® »ÓÀ̴ϱî¿ä
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ÁË ÁöÀº ÀÚµéÀÇ ½Ã´ë
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TV¿¡¼ ±×µéÀÌ ÁÖÀåÀ» Çϰí
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°Å±â¼ ³¡³ °ÍÀº ¿©±â¼µµ ³¡À̶ó´Â °ÍÀ» ¾Ë°Ô ÇÏÁÒ
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±×´ë´Â ³»°ÍÀº ³» °ÍÀÌÁö ³× °ÍÀº ¾Æ´Ï¾ß ÇÏ°í µÚ¿¡¼ ¼Ò¸®Ä¥ »ÓÀÌ¿¡¿ä
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I may have too much but I¢¥ll take my chances
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¢¥Cause God¢¥s stopped keeping score
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And you cling to the things they sold you
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Did you cover your eyes when they told you
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That he can¢¥t come back
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¢¥Cause he has no children to come back for
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It¢¥s hard to love there¢¥s so much to hate
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Hanging on to hope when there is no hope to speak of
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And the wounded skies above
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Say it¢¥s much too late
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So maybe we should all be praying for time
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³»°¡ °¡Áø °ÍÀÌ ¸¹À»Áö´Â ¸ô¶óµµ ¸ðÇèÀ» ÇØº¸°Ú¾î¿ä , ½ÅÀÌ °è¼Ó »õ±âÁö ¾Ê잫¾Æ¿ä
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±×´ë´Â ±×µéÀÌ ±×´ë¿¡°Ô ÆÇ °Í¿¡ ¸Å´Þ¸®´Â±º¿ä
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±×µéÀÌ ±×´ë¿¡°Ô ½ÅÀÌ µ¹¾Æ¿Ã¼ö ¾ø´Ù°í ¸»ÇÒ¶§ ±×´ë´Â ¸ð¸£´Âô ÇÏÁÒ
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¿Ö³ÄÇÏ¸é ½ÅÀº º¸»ìÇÊ ÀÚ¼ÕÀÌ ¾øÀ¸´Ï±î¿ä
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»ç¶ûÇÏ´Â°Ç ¾î·Æ°í ¹Ì¿öÇÒ °ÍÀº ³Ê¹« ¸¹ÁÒ
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¸»ÇÒ¸¸ÇÑ Èñ¸ÁÀÌ ¾øÀ»¶§ ¿ì¸®´Â Èñ¸Á¿¡ ¸Å´Þ¸®ÁÒ
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±×¸®°í Àú À§ÀÇ »óó¹ÞÀº ÇÏ´ÃÀº ÀÌÁ¦ ³Ê¹« ´Ê¾î ¹ö·È´Ù°í ¸»ÇÏÁÒ
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±×·¯´Ï ¾Æ¸¶ ¿ì¸® ¸ðµÎ´Â ½Ã´ë¸¦ À§ÇØ ±âµµ¸¦ ÇØ¾ß ÇϰÚÁÒ
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-----------------
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praying for time
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| George Michael(Á¶Áö¸¶ÀÌŬ) |