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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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