Dragging and dropping the same songs will never build the same faraway house to escape to. The grass rolled out like dough will never be as green. The inside of that bus was like a time capsule and somewhere inside of my heart it's still speeding after some dream. Are we there yet and almost, another hour still meet somewhere in the middle aisle. I'm still half awake, leaning against a giant window, using my coat like a blanket, listening to Hey Jude playing from the back, listening to the sound of heat rushing from the vents like a yawn that goes on forever.