"I could write a poem, oh the darkest.
Where the skies are the blackest.
Where the sky here shines red.
And the demons come knocking, they dont live under the bed.
And there is rivers of blood.
And the worst of everything bad.
But darling, I don't own a heart that is capable of that.
Not me, not this heart.
Because this heart would write skies that are white.
And the weight you carry becomes light.
And the people you meet are just right.
And the light is never out of sight.
And when you face problems, you are bold.
Some warmth on the days that are cold.
I have a heart that would hate itself if it ever caused pain.
Lock itself away, torture itself again and again.
A suffer that has no cure.
But a suffering of a heart that is pure.
Here inside, beating in my chest.
Sits a heart that is only ever capable of wishing for the best."
© Prince