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