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¨¨¨~**$¤££ I Follow  The Tire Tracks West. They  Go ££¤$**~¨¨¨
¨~«**$¤### Parallel  With  The  Railroad, With  Its ###¤$**«~¨
¨¨¨¨««***¤ Endless Mirrors  Looking Kinda  Oily. An ¤***««¨¨¨¨
¨~«**$£###  Incredible Power Bound There... There'S ###£$**«~¨
¨¨~~«**$¤¤ A Wire Fence To Separate  The Two Roads. ¤¤$**«~~¨¨
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¨~«**$¤¤¤£ Even  Though There'S A  Foggy Quality To £¤¤¤$**«~¨
¨~«**$¤£## The Air,  The Path  I Follow Is Glowing. ##£¤$**«~¨
¨¨¨¨~~**¤£ A  Yellow-Green   Moss  Has  Taken  Hold £¤**~~¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨«*¤¤# Where  The  Machines  Who   Made   These #¤¤*«¨¨¨¨¨
¨~«**$¤£## Tracks Once Disturbed The Clover  Field. ##£¤$**«~¨
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¨~«**$$$$£ We'Re  Off  The  Season When  The  Birds £$$$$**«~¨
¨~«**$¤£## Sing Beautifully.  These Days  It'S Just ##£¤$**«~¨
¨¨¨~«****¤       Screeches, Or Calls For Help.      ¤****«~¨¨¨
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¨~«**$¤£## I   Think   Of   The  Jackdaw  I  Maimed ##£¤$**«~¨
¨~«**$¤£##   Yesterday. I Fear The Dreaming gate.   ##£¤$**«~¨
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