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.