,@,,@,@,@,                                          ,,@@,@,@,@
,@,@@,@,@,                                          ,@,@,@,@,@
,@,,@,@,@,                                          ,@,@,@,@,@
,@,@@,@,@,                                          ,@,@,@,@,@
,@,,@,@,@,                                          ,@,@,@,@,@
,@,@@,@,@, 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.   ,@,@,@,@,@
,@,@@,@,@,                                          ,@,@,@,@,@
,@,,@,@,@,                                          ,@,@,@,@,@
,@,@@,@,@,                                          ,@,@,@,@,@
,@,,@,@,@,                                          ,@,@,@,@,@
,@,@@,@,@,                                          ,@,@,@,@,@