¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨,                                          ,¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ 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.   ,¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨