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.