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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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