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.