Oil slick in my dinner
It makes me sick, in the air anyhow
And the dream upon my lips
Is getting thinner with each day
And yet I'm getting paid
I get sick at my work everyday
There is no cure but to stay away, without pay
And the horns upon my head
Are getting thicker with each day
I take my meals here
I sleep in a maze, alone
Men get sick at their work each and every day
There ain't no cure but to stay,
Stay home today, go to the beach instead
And their dreams, in their heads
Cannot be found in the maze
Or so they say.