Foxfoot. Some willful, mostly gentle (with an underlying anger) thoughts of a happy-to-be-sad woman. Mythology, folklore, esoterica, old-wives tales, occasional pipe-smoking, and bodies. Lots and lots of bodies.
I have plans for the future, guess they’re futuristic plans. Move out west and buy some desert lands Or maybe up North, just past Alaska. You know nothing of this if they ask you. Red Rover, Red Rover, Bob Lazar’s coming over… Get up! Eject! Escape from the Prison Planet!