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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. #@£%%:-:,,
,:-:%%£@## ##@£%%:-:,
,,:-:%%£@# 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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