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..@.@...@@ 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. ..@......@
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