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.