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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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