My Own Dirty Little Hand's
Sounds of steel Echoeing
All throughout the Rig
Old men walking around
Talking while smoking their cig's
Smells of sea salt and gas
Mother nature didn't plan for this
A business built on polluting
How could I have signed up for this
Late nights and alarm's sounding
So loud it could scare you to death
Your life and nothing else matters
As long as you reach a certain depth
Platforms are always being planted
While ships are always sailing to sea
The Ocean at it's very worst
A place only God should be
Sheen's and fitting's thrown over
Right to the bottom of the sea
Falling with the oceans current
Poisoning! the beauty of it's scenery
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