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