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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. ¤¤¤§»¨¨¨¨¨
¨~»;§§¤¶## ##¶¤§§;»~¨
¨~»;§§¤### 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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