¨¨¨~«^*$¤#                                          #¤$*^«~¨¨¨
¨¨~«^*$¤##                                          ##¤$*^«~¨¨
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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.   #¤$*^«~¨¨¨
¨¨~«^*$¤##                                          ##¤$*^«~¨¨
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¨¨¨~«^*$¤#                                          #¤$*^«~¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨~«^*$¤                                          ¤$*^«~¨¨¨¨