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.