my golden oil can be considered a sacrifice in a volcano, cultivated by the gods of olympus. What am I?

Something in song, bathtime and in flight

Corridors snaking and doubling back in impossible configurations. If you escape earn a solid congratulations.

I once was a house beneath the blue, now I'm a gift on the beach for you. My first three are large and salty, I share my next five with an oil company.

Every dawn begins with me, At dusk I’ll be the first you see. And daybreak couldn’t come without What midday centers all about. Daises grow from me, I’m told. And when I come, I end all cold. But in the sun I won’t be found, Yet still, each day I’ll be around. What am I?