(ANN: I think I've always like, imagined myself – I've imagined them being in my future. And I realize that I'll probably end up, if I do have kids, it'll probably be like this, most vanilla white picket house situation. But I do have that sick need to repeat my life, and I really want to raise a daughter on my own. Is that horrible? You know? "I can support my baby, and I'll just do it better this time!" And part of me wants to be a very cool single mom who's very present. But, uh, that's fucked up. You know? [laughs])

It’s in a cave you couldn’t enter,
Couldn’t plumb, and couldn’t breathe in
My heart left soot stains on the walls,
Whose trails crept up the ceiling

i didn’t live there
i didn’t visit often
it means more than you’ll ever know

When you took a step inside
The air reared back and hissed, demanding
Answers to a question asked in
Codes beyond your understanding

the cave wasn’t a grave,
but Thompson dug in anyway
betrayal, strata in shale-
like plaster laid to terminate
the age being upstaged
when itza came to b’lankanché
a quake, shudder awake
the belly of the beast you desecrate

it’s alive!
feel the rumble of the roar
we’re alive
of the ground we are borne
so it goes
i tell my children the lore
it’s who we are
it’s how we say who we say we are

it wasn’t left for you to find!
it was sealed, and it was mine!
the pots, the jade, the bodies...

now tourists come to the underground tree
i wonder what they think they’ll see;
A mother with a dirty trowel,
Her child sulking near to me,
The 400 years between us
Boiled down to an inch or three;
I hold them again, my family
Del and Nancy, Del and Nancy