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.