¨§§¨§§¨§§§                                          §§§¨¨¨§¨§¨
§¨§§¨§§¨¨§                                          ¨¨§¨¨§§§§¨
§§¨§§¨§¨§§                                          ¨§§¨§¨¨¨§§
¨§§¨§§§§¨¨                                          §¨§§§¨¨§¨¨
§¨§§¨¨¨§¨¨                                          §§¨¨§¨§§¨¨
§§¨§¨¨§§¨§ 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.   §¨¨§¨§§§¨¨
¨¨§§§§¨¨¨§                                          §¨§§§¨¨§¨§
¨§¨¨¨§¨¨§¨                                          §§¨¨§¨§§§§
§§¨¨§§¨§§¨                                          ¨§¨§§§¨¨¨§
¨§¨§¨§§¨§¨                                          §§§¨¨§¨¨§¨
§§§§§¨§§§¨                                          ¨¨§¨§§¨§§¨