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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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