§¨¨¨§§¨¨¨¨                                          ¨§¨§¨§¨§§¨
¨§¨¨§§§¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨§§¨
¨¨§¨§¨§§¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨§§§
§¨¨¨¨¨§§§¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨§¨§
§§¨¨¨¨§¨§§                                          §¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨§
¨§§¨¨¨¨¨§§ 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.   ¨¨¨¨¨¨§¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨§¨¨¨§                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨§¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨§¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨§¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨§¨¨                                          §¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨§
§¨¨¨¨¨¨¨§¨                                          §§¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨§¨¨¨¨¨¨¨§                                          ¨§§¨¨¨¨¨¨¨