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