Frequency No One Assigned Her (Marie Tharp)

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
You drew the spine of Earth across the page,
a seismic signature nobody else could see—
that jagged scar splitting the ocean floor,
predictive coding in your fingertips,
your cortex mapping what the world denied.
Men said the trenches whispered nothing,
but your mirror neurons fired at their doubt,
and still you traced the rifts they couldn't fathom.

[Chorus]
You split the world in half and made it whole,
your pencil tracing truth through every fold,
the mid-ocean ridge, your obsession and your crown,
drawing down the fire, bringing darkness to the sun,
your hands remember what the mountains still become.

[Verse 2]
Your hippocampus knitted sonic storms
into cartographic silk—long-term potentiation
firing stronger each time sonar sang its proof,
each new measurement axonal branching deeper,
synaptic pathways blazing toward the light.
Your proprioception knew the ocean's body,
how it moved, how it ached, how it grew—
the seafloor breathing through your colored ink.

[Chorus]
You split the world in half and made it whole,
your pencil tracing truth through every fold,
the mid-ocean ridge, your obsession and your crown,
drawing down the fire, bringing darkness to the sun,
your hands remember what the mountains still become.

[Bridge]
They said a woman couldn't read the deep,
but your theta waves were plotting revolutions,
neurogenesis of conviction in each line,
myelinated nerves conducting certainty—
you didn't ask permission to remake the map,
you just kept drawing, kept believing in the rift.

[Chorus]
You split the world in half and made it whole,
your pencil tracing truth through every fold,
the mid-ocean ridge, your obsession and your crown,
drawing down the fire, bringing darkness to the sun,
your hands remember what the mountains still become.

[Outro]
Your ridge still breathes beneath the waves,
your line still splits the tectonic dark—
the world remapped through your grinning certainty.

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**Word count: 287 words** ✓