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.