"Yours sounds better," she says. The American song is a love song to a person. Writing a love song to the sea is a little more interesting. Shrugging, Beth glances down at the severed head, which is the same lifeless corpse it has been this whole time. There's the ugly, inexplicable urge to nudge it with the toe of her foot, which she decidedly does not do. "How long do you think it's been?"