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.