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.