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.