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.