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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. ,,,,:«%@@£
@§*««,,,,,                                          ,,,,,««*§@
#@£@§%*«:, 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.   ,,,««««%@@
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