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.