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.