##@@$%†«:¨ ¨:«†%$@@##
#@@$%†«:¨¨ ¨¨:«†%$@@#
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@$%†«:¨¨¨¨ ¨¨¨¨:«†%$@
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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. ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
:¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨:
«:¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ Even Though There'S A Foggy Quality To ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨:«
†«:¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ The Air, The Path I Follow Is Glowing. ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨:«†
%†«:¨¨¨¨¨¨ A Yellow-Green Moss Has Taken Hold ¨¨¨¨¨¨:«†%
$%†«:¨¨¨¨¨ Where The Machines Who Made These ¨¨¨¨¨:«†%$
@$%†«:¨¨¨¨ Tracks Once Disturbed The Clover Field. ¨¨¨¨:«†%$@
@@$%†«:¨¨¨ ¨¨¨:«†%$@@
#@@$%†«:¨¨ We'Re Off The Season When The Birds ¨¨:«†%$@@#
##@@$%†«:¨ Sing Beautifully. These Days It'S Just ¨:«†%$@@##
#@@$%†«:¨¨ Screeches, Or Calls For Help. ¨¨:«†%$@@#
@@$%†«:¨¨¨ ¨¨¨:«†%$@@
@$%†«:¨¨¨¨ I Think Of The Jackdaw I Maimed ¨¨¨¨:«†%$@
$%†«:¨¨¨¨¨ Yesterday. I Fear The Dreaming gate. ¨¨¨¨¨:«†%$
%†«:¨¨¨¨¨¨ ¨¨¨¨¨¨:«†%
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