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