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.