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.