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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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