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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. #¤¤¤%==«.¨
¨.«==%%¤¤# #¤¤%%==«.¨
¨.«=%¤¤### i think of the jackdaw i maimed ###¤¤%=«.¨
¨.«=%¤#### yesterday. i fear the dreaming gate. ####¤%=«.¨
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