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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. #@**~¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨~«*@ @*«~¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨«***@@ 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. ##@@***«~¨
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