[BigV]

But it's peaceful quiet on th' bottom o' th' sea. Some splashin and thrashin at the start, sure. Messages soon reach yer brain that yer lungs, yer poor lungs, crushed an burnin, need relief! Arrrrrgh! Hidden from view beneath the waves, already fading from mem'ry. In rushes th' water when ye feel ye must finally burst! Plain sleep enfolds ye as settle into th arms o' Death. Sight is the last to go, but it feels like dreamin.