¨¨¨¨¨^~*%%                                          %%*~^¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨^~*%                                          %*~^¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨^~*                                          *~^¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨^~                                          ~^¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨^                                          ^¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ 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.   ^¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨^                                          ^¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨^~                                          ~^¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨^~*                                          *~^¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨^~*%                                          %*~^¨¨¨¨¨¨