June Sixteenth (Leopold Bloom)

Lyrics

**Central Image:** The solitary urban perambulation—the epic walk through Dublin as ordinary consciousness made luminous; the city itself as the subject's inner world made visible.

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[Verse 1]
You move through streets like light through water,
every storefront a synapse firing,
your cortex remapping the familiar blocks
into something that's never been walked before.
The kidney you carry becomes a relic,
a talisman of hunger and heat—
your proprioception singing the cobblestones,
each step a small negotiation with gravity.

[Chorus]
You are the map and the walker,
the question and the slow answer,
turning Dublin into a body,
turning your body into a city.
Every corner holds you.
You hold every corner back.

[Verse 2]
Your mirror neurons fire at every stranger's face,
their grief, their lust, their small economies
folding into your own theta waves,
the deep brainwork of wandering,
of attention itself becoming a sacrament.
The newspapers, the ads, the overheard confessions—
your hippocampus braiding it all into one long
golden thread of becoming.

[Chorus]
You are the map and the walker,
the question and the slow answer,
turning Dublin into a body,
turning your body into a city.
Every corner holds you.
You hold every corner back.

[Bridge]
And in that moment between morning and afternoon,
your axons branch like streets meeting streets,
synaptic plasticity at work—
you are not the same man twice,
each meander rewires you,
each threshold crossed rewires you,
and you're grinning, aren't you?
Alive in the thick of it.

[Chorus]
You are the map and the walker,
the question and the slow answer,
turning Dublin into a body,
turning your body into a city.
Every corner holds you.
You hold every corner back.

[Outro]
So walk it again tomorrow,
those same streets,
brand new synapses,
brand new hunger,
brand new sun—
the city blooming inside you.