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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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