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The ground is red, the air is thin, no grass or dusty weeds,
Just craters deep and diamond dust, and strange and lonely seeds.
A banjo strumming starts to play, a lonesome, gentle tune,
And from behind a silver rock, a figure greets the moon.
It's not a hare, or cat, or mouse, but something in between,
A cowboy with a turtle shell, the strangest thing she's seen.
He's got a rusty horseshoe charm that dangles from his vest,
His eyes are old and wise, and hold a quiet sort of rest.
His skin is green, his whiskers long, a gentle, cosmic gaze,
He's lived a thousand solar years in these uncharted ways.

He tips his hat, a Stetson wide, all made of shiny tin,
And says, "Well, howdy there, young miss, now where you been?"
"My name is Gus, the keeper here, of all these starlit plains,"
"I reckon you're a long way from the summer country rains."
And Alice smiles, a tired sigh, and looks at him anew,
"I've traveled far to find you, Gus. There's so much more to do."
He points a thumb to planets that are shining far and near,
"You're not the first to wander here, to face the cosmic fear."
"The Queen of Spades runs asteroid games, the Mad Hatters brew star-tea,"
"And the Jabberwocky's out there now, just waitin' to be free."
He tells her stories of the stars, of galaxies and space,
And offers her a sip of starlight, from a silver-plated case.
"The cosmos is a honky-tonk," he says with a wink and grin,
"You've paid the price to get here, girl, now let the fun begin."

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