§§¨¨§§¨§§¨                                          ¨§¨§¨§§§§¨
§¨§¨§¨§§¨§                                          §§§§§§¨¨¨§
¨§§§§§§¨§§                                          §¨¨¨¨¨§¨¨§
§§¨¨¨¨¨§§¨                                          ¨§¨¨¨¨§§¨§
¨¨§¨¨¨¨§¨§                                          ¨§§¨¨¨§¨§§
§¨§§¨¨¨§§§ 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.   §¨§§§¨¨¨¨§
§¨§§§§§¨¨¨                                          §§§¨¨§¨¨¨§
¨§§¨¨¨¨§¨¨                                          §¨¨§¨§§¨¨§
§§¨§¨¨¨§§¨                                          §§¨§§§¨§¨§
¨¨§§§¨¨§¨§                                          §¨§§¨¨§§§§
§¨§¨¨§¨§§§                                          §§§¨§¨§¨¨¨