[forre]

A neon ball in someone's hands,
With colours plays but gives no sense,
Remains cold, looks so tough,
So far it isn't touched by love.

You hold it in your hands and wonder,
Why it gets power of thunder,
Of storm and fire, leaving trace,
When moving closer to your face.

You feel the ball is warm and tender,
Its light makes darkness to surrender,
The devil has no place here.
My friend, the times of truth are near.

It's gliding down the right cheek,
Then left, and you begin to freak.
Familiar voice says "It's me".
Can you believe that what you see?