We're sounding near the stranding rocks. Near the beach of Fear Pier.

The changing beach? Are these the changing rocks? Is this the crunch-
wrack? Is this all whunch-crack?

Ain't it just filed-away smarmchunks? Smartchunk mechanisms to stack in
the electron halls of the past? For no piastres?

The feral meals of retention? The many feral Pharoah meals? Wash me up on
a chocolate beach on the Duat. The underworld is filled with soft, supple
hands to support you, like an audience supports a rock and roll
crowdswimmer.