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.