There is no thin part
in the hedge around my life
I have to push through it

My horns get entangled
Where is the helping hand
when you need it?

Should I die here
like Moses on the holy mountain
looking out over the promised land?

Heaven, save me the earth
of a premature grave, give wind
that bends away the branches, water
that exposes the roots, or fire

and I will endure it
until the wood is dry and will give way
If necessary, break off my horns
just do something, and love me