¨§§¨§¨§§§¨                                          §§§§§§§§§¨
§¨§§§§¨¨§¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨§¨
§§¨¨¨§¨§§§                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨§§§
¨§¨¨§§§¨¨¨                                          ¨¨¨¨¨¨§¨¨¨
§§¨§¨¨§¨¨§                                          ¨¨¨¨¨§§¨¨¨
¨§§§¨§§¨§¨ 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.   §§§¨¨§¨¨§§
¨¨§¨§¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨¨§¨§§¨§¨¨
¨§§§§¨¨¨¨¨                                          ¨§§§¨§§§¨¨
§¨¨¨§¨¨¨¨§                                          §¨¨§§¨¨§¨¨
§¨¨§§¨¨¨§§                                          §¨§¨§¨§§¨§
§¨§¨§¨¨§¨¨                                          §§§§§§¨§§¨