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¨-=†%$$§¶# Parallel With The Railroad, With Its #¶§$$%†=-¨
¨-=†%$§§§§ Endless Mirrors Looking Kinda Oily. An §§§§$%†=-¨
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¨¨--==%%§¶ Even Though There'S A Foggy Quality To ¶§%%==--¨¨
¨-=†%$§§¶¶ The Air, The Path I Follow Is Glowing. ¶¶§§$%†=-¨
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¨-=†%$§¶## Where The Machines Who Made These ##¶§$%†=-¨
¨¨¨¨-†$$§§ Tracks Once Disturbed The Clover Field. §§$$†-¨¨¨¨
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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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