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