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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. ,,,,,:\\@@
##@§@%\»:, ,:»\%@§@##
##@§@%\»:, 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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