The Coast Starlight is late tonight. Its steady rattle lures you into sleep, while shadows fall past ancient redwood trees to crawl the leaden darkness of a lettuce field. They sing. The fog conspires with night to blanket every sight, so against your trembling shoulder I will lean. And I'll whisper words in careful sequences to purge the restless chill that seeps out of your dreams…because the last time we were here was for a funeral, and the crackle of death managed to remain. Even now it feels unusual. It won't go away. If we're denied our passage to another side, we'll set our skinny ghosts here by the sea. But if we're returned to this earth in a manner transformed, then on narrow roads, in these brief rains we'll be. Oh, the last time we were here was for a funeral and the crackle of death managed to remain. But I'm still here, and I can't be losing you. Oh, don't go away. Don't go away.