¨@@¨¨¨@@¨¨ ¨¨@@¨¨¨¨¨@
¨¨@¨¨@¨@¨@ ¨@¨@¨¨¨¨@@
¨@@¨@@¨@¨¨ ¨@¨@¨¨¨@¨@
¨¨@¨¨@¨@¨@ ¨@¨@¨¨@@¨@
¨@@¨@@¨@¨¨ ¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@
¨¨@¨¨@¨@¨@ 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. ¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@
¨¨@¨¨@¨@¨@ ¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@
¨@@¨@@¨@¨¨ ¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@
¨¨@¨¨@¨@¨@ ¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@
¨@@¨@@¨@¨¨ ¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@
¨¨@¨¨@¨@¨@ ¨@¨@¨@¨@¨@