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##@§£^:-,, I Follow  The Tire  Tracks West. They Go ,,-:^£§@##
##@§£^:-,, Parallel  With  The  Railroad,  With Its ,,-:^£§@##
##@§£^:-,, Endless Mirrors Looking  Kinda  Oily. An ,,-:^£§@##
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###§£^:-,, A Wire Fence To Separate  The Two Roads. ,,-:^£§###
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§§§^^^:-,, 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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