If I put my hand into a flame
I'd want you to let my fingers burn,
for if you didn't I would never learn
and I'd have inexperience to blame.
If I was stood on the edge at a height
I wouldn't want you to guide me away,
and I'm not being asked to be pushed astray,
just with your presence, I would choose what's right.
If I was buried in my soily sorrows
I would not expect you to get a shovel;
let me break free of the hellish hovel
and we'd enjoy the daylight of tomorrow.
If I'm sinking I don't expect your hand
but rather your arms when I break free to land.
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