up up up up up up points the 
spire of the steeple 
but god's work isn't done by god 
it's done by people 
 
up up up up up up points the 
fingers of the trees 
the lumberjacks with their bloody axes 
are on their knees 
 
and just when you think that you've got enough 
enough grows 
and everywhere that you go in life 
enough knows 
 
up up up up up up dances  
the steam from the sewer 
as she rounds the corner 
the brutal wind blows right through her 
 
up up up up up up raises  
the stakes of the game 
each day sinks its bootprint into her clay 
and she's not the same 
 
and just when you think that you've got enough 
enough grows 
and everywhere that you go in life 
enough knows 
 
half of learning how to play 
is learning what not to play 
and she's learning the spaces she leaves 
have their own things to say 
then she's trying to sing just enough 
so that the air around her moves 
and make music like mercy 
that gives what it is 
and has nothing to prove 
 
she crawls out on a limb 
and begins to build her home 
amd it's enough just to look around 
to know she's not alone 
 
up up up up up up points  
the spire of the steeple 
but god's work isn't done by god 
it's done by people