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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. @¤¤£§«,,,,
,^«^^^^§£@ @£§^^^^«^,
,^«^§£¤@## 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. ¤£^««,,,,,
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