We all know 3am

we file along the footpath in lazy lines, drinking wine out of water bottles. lewis and henry lead the jay-walking way across the road and we obediently file onto the tram. as usual i am laughing too loudly, carrying too much baggage and wearing the wrong goddamn shoes again. we tumble out when the tram pulls up and invade 7/11 and i don't think i stop laughing the whole night, not when i'm dancing, not when i'm waiting at the bar, not when i'm sitting sandwiched between my beautiful friends who have no idea i want to wrap them all up in a big fluffy doona and tuck them into my heart forever. i tried to say it at my recital earlier, i said the work i had done wouldn't have been possible without them but it's more than that; they are in my songs, they are my songs, they live so brightly in that music you know. the way an arm rests heavy-sweet on my shoulders and the stupid conversations that we shout at each other from one side of the road to another and the late night-early morning walks home when the only thing on your mind is a slice of peanut butter toast and curling up quietly together to sleep through half the day - i need to write music for these times, to honour them, to keep them precious, to keep them alive, i need to know them forever.