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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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