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.