¤¤¨¤¨¨¨¤¨¤ ¨¤¨¤¤¤¤¨¤¨
¨¤¨¤¨¨¤¤¨¤ ¨¤¨¨¤¤¤¨¤¨
¤¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ ¨¤¨¤¨¤¤¨¤¨
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ ¨¤¨¤¨¨¤¨¤¨
¤¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ ¨¤¨¤¨¤¤¨¤¨
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ 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. ¨¤¨¤¨¤¤¨¤¨
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ ¨¤¨¤¨¨¤¨¤¨
¤¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ ¨¤¨¤¨¤¤¨¤¨
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ ¨¤¨¤¨¨¤¨¤¨
¤¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ ¨¤¨¤¨¤¤¨¤¨
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ ¨¤¨¤¨¨¤¨¤¨