up up up up up up

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