Seem like we're still in the kitchen
A pease-broth brought to boil
Stuck in a terminal stir
Chucking it all in the air
But the sky don't throw it back
No the sky don't throw it back
Sun's face is oil, sun's face is black
Sun's face is oil, sun's face is oil
What is it weighs on your brain-box
Is it the closeness of weather
Or are you allergic to the garbage
Hankering after escape routes
Everyone's frantically cooking
Everyone's frantically cooking
Sun's face is oil, sun's face is black
Sun's face is oil, sun's face is black
Measured per meter, we're done for
Cubits of dross upon each head
I'm wearing a hat
That reaches through ozone