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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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