Article voiceover
Beaches stretching out as far as the eye can see Shells in sunlight glint, evening gives nary a hint Such a strange and restless verdant country the sea Tide fills air with sound, what have beachcombers here found? Calling out to him, another reports his catch Voices o'er the tide, none sets his findings aside -- Hands no mark on sand do make these morsels to fetch Wing and beak to task; mouths that do take and not ask; Boardwalk's rough and ridged and grooved by salty air Are these findings waste? Do our beachcombers have taste? Fat perhaps from gifts which once were made with care; Each once had a name -- Carried away just the same; All were workers once of charity's good will; Cursed now to hunt, only their belly to fill.
Author’s note: recorded with a different microphone. Some quality issues persist.