He shoved me inside his government truck, the color of a bruise He drove a country mile outside town, said get out boy, and that's what I did do I walked over to that sign, it read the Old Service Road He had his window up tight shut, when I asked hey mister where does it go? -He mouthed-you don't wanna know what goes on down the Old Service Road- He left me with a tire iron, instructions and a list of names I was left to guard that road, in that service I did remain I stuck the list to the back-side of the sign, 'cause that list it held the name of my brother I used the iron as a baseball bat, when the rocks hit the sign it made the sound of forever I thought to re-arange that list, knock them letters round But the front still read the Old Service Road, on the back side my brother's name I still found -I don't wanna know what goes on down the Old Service Road- A hand built two- seater come down the service road, the driver avoided my eyes he was a mix skin of mexican descent, he opened the window shy I tapped my iron 'ginst his metal car, I went giddy at the sound of forever un-shyly out the window leaped a dog, to the dog I 'plied the traits of my brother It slunk on over to the sign, let loose and made the sign its own I scanned the list for some sign of a dog, but there was only my brother's name alone I scratched off his name said goodbye Argos, the dog went down the Old Service Road Shyly out the window the mexican said, donde my perro
-You don't wanna know what goes on down the Old Service Road-