,.~†%%&@##                                          ##@&%%†~.,
,,.~†%%&@#                                          #@&%%†~.,,
,.~†%%&@##                                          ##@&%%†~.,
,,.~†%%&@#                                          #@&%%†~.,,
,.~†%%&@##                                          ##@&%%†~.,
,,.~†%%&@# 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.   ##@&%%†~.,
,,.~†%%&@#                                          #@&%%†~.,,
,.~†%%&@##                                          ##@&%%†~.,
,,.~†%%&@#                                          #@&%%†~.,,
,.~†%%&@##                                          ##@&%%†~.,
,,.~†%%&@#                                          #@&%%†~.,,