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¨§§¨¨§§§§¨ 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. §§§§§§§§§¨
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¨§§§§§§¨¨§ 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. §§§§§¨¨§§§
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¨§§¨¨§§§§§ We'Re Off The Season When The Birds §§§¨¨§§¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨§§§§ Sing Beautifully. These Days It'S Just §§¨¨¨¨¨¨§§
¨§§§§¨¨§§§ Screeches, Or Calls For Help. ¨¨¨§§§§¨¨¨
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¨¨¨¨¨§§¨¨§ I Think Of The Jackdaw I Maimed §¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
§§§§¨¨¨¨¨¨ Yesterday. I Fear The Dreaming gate. ¨¨§§§§§§§§
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