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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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