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



and 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

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