[Andy Mineo]
Who would have thought I'd step inside this train station
Then get hit with some inspiration
It's amazing
The most beautiful pieces of art come from the ugliest situations
So I praise Him, rejoicing in my suffering
Cause I know He's got a masterpiece in the making
And I ain't scared of death, nor Satan
Cause I know Whose hand that my name is engraved in
This right here is a proper statement
I am not the artist, I'm the canvas that He's painting
Like I remember last year being homeless
Sleepin' on the air mattress, but on the phone with
Three record labels, who to go with?
I know that you like to fix things with them tools that are broken
So when them dark nights hit his soul
I know enough to know to trust You with what I don't
[Christon Gray]
Bad days, I suppose
Too much for me to remember
Let me back up, I'm too close
Now I can see the whole picture
You make something out of nothing, nothing
You make something out of nothing, nothing
[Andy Mineo]
Sittin' back meditating on creation
Thinkin' how You made everything out of nothing
With a statement, You sustain it
Let there be, and there is, my brain can't contain this
That's why the fame and the claim is so dangerous
It'll make a heart sing that my name is the greatest
So, Josh, Rich, Ray, Alex, Dave
Call me to repentance if I ever go astray
If that money ever get in the way, then I'll burn it
The price for my soul is something I couldn't pay
Sometimes I read them articles believin' what they say
Sweatin' my own press, God is so unimpressed
Nah, I'm a mess, made out of dust
To return to it upon death, my soul rests, and yet
They makin' heroes out of the ones who been rescued
Who cares if they remember my name if I forget You?
[Christon Gray]
Alright
Bad days, I suppose
Too much for me to remember
Let me back up, I'm too close
Now I can see the whole picture
You make something out of nothing, nothing
You make something out of nothing, nothing
Yo, here goes nothing
I'm nothing much, but He knows something, Ex Nihilo
He's next to zero
He leans on nothing and nothing I want more than to hear those trumpets
No nothing I want more than to hear those trumpets
My earlobes jumping, I feel so love sick
Lot of us got idea, s but still no substance
And a lot of times I can see it, but the mirror don't love Chris
Bad days, I suppose
Too much for me to remember
Let me back up, I'm too close
Now I can see the whole picture
You make something out of nothing, nothing
You make something out of nothing, nothing
