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