A little after twelve. The function suite was full. Of people I had never seen before. Ripped up ticket stubs. Confettied on the floor. It dawned on me I'd seen it all before. Cool your beans my son. You look a fucking mess. No one's getting out of here tonight. Hit that button there. The one that just says wrong. And we'll lose our minds to all our favourite songs. Throw forward to later. You look light on your feet. When you whirled in the room. I was nailed to my seat. I'm like a prisoner. Getting ready to talk. I feel the blood in my hands. And the threat in your walk. And suddenly. It lifts the roof off the place. It puts a vault in my step. And a grin on my face. It can't contain me. But you'll need an army. To get me back in my box. Or snap the branches off me. A little after four. The function suite is dead. And I am just a ripped up ticket stub. But here's a helping hand. A voice that's far too close. And I am up and on my broken limbs. Throw forward to later. You look light on your feet. When you whirled in the room. I was nailed to my seat. I'm like a prisoner. Getting ready to talk. I feel the blood in my hands. And the threat in your walk. And suddenly. It lifts the roof off the place. It puts a vault in my step. And a grin on my face. It can't contain me. But you'll need an army. To get me back in my box. Or snap the branches off me