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