¨§§¨§¨§¨¨¨                                          §¨¨¨§§¨¨¨§
§¨§§§§§¨¨§                                          §¨¨§¨§¨¨§§
§§¨¨¨¨§¨§¨                                          §¨§§§§¨§¨¨
¨§¨¨¨§§§§§                                          §§¨¨¨§§§¨§
§§¨¨§¨¨¨¨§                                          ¨§¨¨§¨¨§§§
¨§¨§§¨¨¨§¨ 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.   ¨¨¨¨¨§¨¨§§
§§¨¨§§§¨§¨                                          ¨¨¨¨§§¨§¨¨
¨§¨§¨¨§§§¨                                          ¨¨¨§¨§§§¨§
§§§§¨§¨¨§¨                                          ¨¨§§§¨¨§§§
¨¨¨§§§¨§§§                                          ¨§¨¨§¨§¨¨¨
¨¨§¨¨§§¨¨§                                          §§¨§§§§¨¨¨