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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. #@¶§&%\»:¨
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¨:»\%&§@## 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. §§%%\\:¨¨¨
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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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