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.