Until you drill a hole
Paluxy, Niobrara, Madison Sands, and Rodessa Limestone -- Remember these improtant names. They unlock the doors protected by Cerberus. Down deep in Louisiana and Wyoming there are no mileposts, or traffic signs; just broken tools and dry holes of those who have passed this way before. Above, the sun shines brightly over the swamps, fields, plains, and ice floes. The searing heat or ungodly cold will make any mortal cringe. Why drill here? If the mosquitoes are as big as DC-9s and the closest French restaurant is 1600 miles away, this must be the site. Huron, Travis Peak, Silurian, Nugget, and Phosphria -- all sandy beaches where we will never swim. The sun has not shone here since the Ginkgo forest disappeared. BTUs from fossil ferns and oolitic stone sound weird. Down here the rules are different, the same rivers are constantly changing course. Houston, Abu Dhabi, Denver, Manaus, Singapore and London -- It all starts here. Squiggles on the logs and contour lines on the map make men race for the door. Get on the jet and to the site. Take her down to some unknown sands. For such madness grown men go to war. The Aegean will never be the same when on facing shores men scan seismic traces. Down below there may be oil. Chiapas, Eureka or Lands End -- where will it be next? Will the Squiggles foretell of hidden treasures in the Ellenberger, Caspian or Sussex sa nds? You will never really know, until you drill a hole.
