T.S. Eliot was wrong.
The world will end neither in a bang nor a whimper,
But a ceaseless dull roar.
Long after ashes have gone back to ashes
And dust to dust,
New oceans will rise up and inundate dry lands.
The ashes of cremains,
And mouldering, formaldehyde-shot carcasses,
Both will wash out to sea.
And so, the ocean will rule.
Go to the beach, go to the seashore.
Hear and see the tale you cannot stop long.
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