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.