¨¨§§§§¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨§§¨¨¨¨¨
§¨¨§§¨¨§§§                                          §§¨¨¨¨§§§§
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨§¨                                          ¨¨¨§§¨¨§§§
¨§§§§§§¨¨¨                                          §§¨¨¨¨¨¨§¨
¨¨§§§§¨¨§§                                          ¨¨¨§§§§¨¨¨
§¨¨§§¨¨¨¨§ 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.   §¨¨¨¨¨¨¨§§
¨§§§§§§¨¨§                                          ¨¨§§§§§¨¨¨
¨¨§§§§¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨§§§¨¨§§
¨¨¨§§¨¨§§¨                                          §§¨¨§¨¨¨¨¨
§§¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨§§§§
§¨¨§§§§§§¨                                          §§§§§¨¨§§§