Hey…I guess that you’re asleep, but let me tell you about my dream. In it, we’re somewhere in Alaska, and sunlight settles like a stain onto the world’s slowest train to mark its slackened passage. But we leave our cameras in our backpacks until our hospital haircuts grow back in. And in the days between the stations, we are drowning in sobriety. And all the weight of isolation has lost its grip and tumbled off of me. After months in a state of isolation, you find your place in these one-way conversations as we ride for days between the stations. The staff comes in to provide all the food we’ve been denied, while I survey others seated. And as their faces start to creep into the democracy of sleep, we learn to treasure waiting. And we zip our sleeping bags together. You rest your bad arm across my knees. Chorus. And I’ll keep looking at the time; the sun is never setting now. I’ll stop looking for something to drag us down. Chorus.