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.