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¨@¨@¨@¨¨¨@ I Follow The Tire Tracks West. They Go @¨¨@¨¨@¨¨@
@@@@@@¨¨@@ Parallel With The Railroad, With Its @¨@@¨@@¨@@
¨¨¨¨¨@¨@¨¨ Endless Mirrors Looking Kinda Oily. An @@¨@@¨@@¨¨
¨¨¨¨@@@@¨¨ Incredible Power Bound There... There'S ¨@@¨@@¨@¨¨
¨¨¨@¨¨¨@¨¨ A Wire Fence To Separate The Two Roads. @¨@@¨@@@¨¨
¨¨@@¨¨@@¨@ @@¨@@¨¨@¨¨
¨@¨@¨@¨@@¨ Even Though There'S A Foggy Quality To ¨@@¨@¨@@¨¨
@@@@@@@¨@¨ The Air, The Path I Follow Is Glowing. @¨@@@@¨@¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨@@@¨ A Yellow-Green Moss Has Taken Hold @@¨¨¨@@@¨@
¨¨¨¨¨@¨¨@¨ Where The Machines Who Made These ¨@¨¨@¨¨@@@
¨¨¨¨@@¨@@@ Tracks Once Disturbed The Clover Field. @@¨@@¨@¨¨@
¨¨¨@¨@@¨¨@ ¨@@¨@@@¨@@
¨¨@@@¨@¨@@ We'Re Off The Season When The Birds @¨@@¨¨@@¨@
¨@¨¨@@@@¨¨ Sing Beautifully. These Days It'S Just @@¨@¨@¨@@@
@@¨@¨¨¨@¨@ Screeches, Or Calls For Help. ¨@@@@@@¨¨@
¨@@@¨¨@@@@ @¨¨¨¨¨@¨@¨
@¨¨@¨@¨¨¨¨ I Think Of The Jackdaw I Maimed @¨¨¨¨@@@@¨
@¨@@@@¨¨¨¨ Yesterday. I Fear The Dreaming gate. @¨¨¨@¨¨¨@@
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