A fox’s scream can eerily sound like a woman’s scream… why are there some who enjoy hunting them, then?
“Foxcry” explores the scary but real scenario that many feminine presenting folks face: others taking advantage of them, and finding pleasure in their pain. This song acts as a visceral callout to the “hunters” that revel in feminine suffering in a masturbatory way.

LYRICS:
He was a hunter boy-boy
Born with hunter arm-arms
Wringing geese necks
On his Papa’s farm-farm
He was a Mama’s boy-boy
He meant the woman no harm
Slinging pelts over his shoulder
But then he couldn’t shoot straight-straight
Something went wrong
He’d kill critters left and right but never pick ‘em up-up 
Hunter boy-boy to a hungry man-man 
Leaving Momma’s love leftover

You just love to see a woman suffer
When she cries you cup her face and say it’s to comfort
Come
As you slip your hands under your beltline
And use her tears to lubricate a good time
I can feel those eyes sinking into me
You hate it when I sing but you love it when I scream
I know why you shoot with your right hand free
Shoo, hunter boy, go skip your stones in a tree

And we foxes have a common phrase
If he can aim, he will shoot so scurry far away
But what about hunter boys, 
boys who play our game
Makin’ tiny cuts at fur until we’re not the same?

Well
We fair foxes learned to grit our teeth
If it’s screaming but not bleeding, then go back to sleep
In these woods, food is scarce, take what you keep
Be wary but don’t heed a hand that’s willing to feed 

You just love to see a woman suffer
When she cries you cup her face and say it’s to comfort
Come
As you slip your hands under your beltline
And use her tears to lubricate a good time
I can feel those eyes sinking into me
You hate it when I sing but you love it when I scream
I know why you shoot with your right hand free
Shoo, hunter boy, go skip your stones in a tree

There once was a hunter boy-boy
Taking part in hunter thing-things
Getting off to killing foxes ‘cause he liked their femme screams
And he’d say: it wasn’t my fault, fault, fault, was an archer’s paradox
Please still love me momma, momma, please still love me, momma
I didn’t mean to kill that fox

FOXCRY (Dorm Demo)

a lil bit folk, a lil bit cosmic, a lil bit whatnot... 
songs for the winged, moss-clad being that climbs through my window every blue moon and demands MUSIC.

- especially imperfect: producer bros beware... 
- active member of the anti-tuning and anti-quantizing club (the moss creature is very impatient to have songs, as am i)
- PRIORITIZE PASSION!
- gooble gooble garble gooble gooble!

FOXCRY (Dorm Demo)

Rabbitology