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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. ,,,.=:%£&@
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##@&£%:=., 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. ,,,.=:%£&@
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##@&£%:=., We'Re Off The Season When The Birds ,.=:%£&@##
#@&£%:=.,, Sing Beautifully. These Days It'S Just ,,.=:%£&@#
@&£%:=.,,, Screeches, Or Calls For Help. ,,,.=:%£&@
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@&£%:=.,,, I Think Of The Jackdaw I Maimed ,,,.=:%£&@
#@&£%:=.,, Yesterday. I Fear The Dreaming gate. ,,.=:%£&@#
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