Potrero Road

You can drive up from the ocean and the road curves hard 
and steep.
The oak trees disappering as the houses start to creep.
Up the sweeping fields of sourgrass, the sagebrush stay 
aloof.
They're carried to these sacred hills on leather boots and 
hooves.

And what will you tell the young men who are quietly 
conversing,
the sun sinking low on the images they are commonly 
nursing?
There's no discussing consequence