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.