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