*§==~¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨~==§*
§==~¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨~==§
==~¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨~==
=~¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨~=
==~¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨~==
§==~¨¨¨¨¨¨ 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.   ¨¨¨~==§*§#
@#§*§==~¨¨                                          ¨¨~==§*§#@
#@#§*§==~¨                                          ¨~==§*§#@#
@#§*§==~¨¨                                          ¨¨~==§*§#@
#§*§==~¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨~==§*§#
§*§==~¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨~==§*§