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.