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@¨¨@¨¨¨¨¨¨ 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. @@¨¨@@¨¨¨¨
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