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.