Things Are What You Make Of Them-Bishop Allen

I was spending my days with my demons, yeah They had taken up inside of my heart They were trying to keep me entertained They were tearing me apart Well my memory, she was packing, yeah And I knew that she would never come back She handed me a letter and Then she vanished in the black And the letter said: Things are what you make of them Things are what you make of them, baby And you know what I mean Yeah, you know what I mean Well I met up with my common sense And I knew her by the rose in her hair She said: Son, if you don't make a noise God will never know you're there So I purchased me a ticket, yeah For a meeting with Jesus Christ He shook my hand and offered me Just this thimble of advice He was telling me: Things are what you make of them . . .