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.