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