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