#@&@%†-,,,                                          ,,,-†%@&@#
##@&@%†-,,                                          ,,-†%@&@##
#@&@%†-,,,                                          ,,,-†%@&@#
@&@%†-,,,,                                          ,,,,-†%@&@
&@%†-,,,,,                                          ,,,,,-†%@&
@%†-,,,,,, 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.   ,,,-†%@&@#
@&@%†-,,,,                                          ,,,,-†%@&@
&@%†-,,,,,                                          ,,,,,-†%@&
@%†-,,,,,,                                          ,,,,,,-†%@
%†-,,,,,,,                                          ,,,,,,,-†%
@%†-,,,,,,                                          ,,,,,,-†%@