.^»/^§#@##                                          ##@#§^/»^.
..^»/^§#@#                                          #@#§^/»^..
.^»/^§#@##                                          ##@#§^/»^.
..^»/^§#@#                                          #@#§^/»^..
.^»/^§#@##                                          ##@#§^/»^.
..^»/^§#@# 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.   ##@#§^/»^.
..^»/^§#@#                                          #@#§^/»^..
.^»/^§#@##                                          ##@#§^/»^.
..^»/^§#@#                                          #@#§^/»^..
.^»/^§#@##                                          ##@#§^/»^.
..^»/^§#@#                                          #@#§^/»^..