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-