&¨¨&¨&&¨¨& ¨&¨&¨&¨¨&&
&¨&&¨¨&¨&¨ &&¨&¨&¨&¨&
&¨¨&¨&&¨&¨ ¨&¨&¨&¨&¨¨
&¨&&¨¨&¨&¨ &&¨&¨&¨&¨&
&¨¨&¨&&¨&¨ ¨&¨&¨&¨&¨¨
&¨&&¨¨&¨&¨ 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. ¨&¨&¨&¨&¨¨
&¨&&¨¨&¨&¨ &&¨&¨&¨&¨&
&¨¨&¨&&¨&¨ ¨&¨&¨&¨&¨¨
&¨&&¨¨&¨&¨ &&¨&¨&¨&¨&
&¨¨&¨&&¨&¨ ¨&¨&¨&¨&¨¨
&¨&&¨¨&¨&¨ &&¨&¨&¨&¨&