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¨,~*^§£### 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. #£§*,,¨¨¨¨
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¨,~*^§£### 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. #§*~~~¨¨¨¨
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¨¨¨,,,*^^£ We'Re Off  The  Season  When  The  Birds £^^*,,,¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨~~*§£# Sing Beautifully. These Days  It'S  Just #£§*~~¨¨¨¨
¨,~*^§£###       Screeches, Or Calls For Help.      ###£§^*~,¨
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¨,~*^§£### I  Think  Of  The   Jackdaw   I   Maimed ###£§^*~,¨
¨¨,,~**^§#   Yesterday. I Fear The Dreaming gate.   #§^**~,,¨¨
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