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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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#$*«««,,,, We'Re Off The Season When The Birds ,,,,«««*$#
####$*;«,, Sing Beautifully. These Days It'S Just ,,«;*$####
####$*;«,, Screeches, Or Calls For Help. ,,«;*$####
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####$*;«,, I Think Of The Jackdaw I Maimed ,,«;*$####
####$*;«,, Yesterday. I Fear The Dreaming gate. ,,«;*$####
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