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.