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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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»:¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨:»
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