¨@@@@¨¨@@¨                                          ¨¨@¨¨@¨¨@¨
@¨@@@¨@¨@¨                                          ¨@@¨@@¨@@¨
@¨¨@@¨@¨@¨                                          ¨¨@¨¨@¨¨@¨
@¨@¨@¨@¨@¨                                          ¨@@¨@@¨@@¨
@¨@¨@¨@¨@¨                                          ¨¨@¨¨@¨¨@¨
@¨@¨@¨@¨@¨ 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.   ¨¨@¨¨@¨¨@¨
@¨@¨@¨@¨@¨                                          ¨@@¨@@¨@@¨
@¨@¨@¨@¨@¨                                          ¨¨@¨¨@¨¨@¨
@¨@¨@¨@¨@¨                                          ¨@@¨@@¨@@¨
@¨@¨@¨@¨@¨                                          ¨¨@¨¨@¨¨@¨
@¨@¨@¨@¨@¨                                          ¨@@¨@@¨@@¨