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.