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.