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.