Things Are What You Make Of Them (reprise)

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 . . .