¨¨¨¨¨~«†%§                                          §%†«~¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨~«†%                                          %†«~¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨~«†                                          †«~¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨~«                                          «~¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨~                                          ~¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ 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.   †«~¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨~«                                          «~¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨~                                          ~¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨