Oil Field By Lower Road

Pot holes, dust devils, Wind sweeping off the ocean onto the oil field by Lower road. Quiet Field, Filled with fuel and man's black gold, Quiet Field of prosperity and far off plight, The oil field by Lower road. Machines of might roll the lands of the oil field. Pushing dirt, moving land, rigging chains, trains, boats and trucks painting the tanks dirty drown Standing tall, at the oil filed by Lower road. Men stride the field, like armies in battle, surveying, slow going...errors are costly down at the oil filed on Lower road. Pine tree dotted, with houses lining the perimeter of the oil field by Lower road awaiting the master and commander after a day, a centurion of the field, The plot of gold outside the door adjoin to Lower road. Day in, day out it holds its gold, pushing it free for a fee, powering the land in all directions that it can see The oil field by Lower road.