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.