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.