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