Hypnerotomachia Poliphili (Canonical) · Track 173 · middle
Ink Does Not Require Rain (Murasaki Shikibu)
Murasaki Shikibu
Lyrics
[Verse 1] Your brush holds the world you've never seen— court corridors bending through your hands, each character a synapse firing gold, the page a living cortex, dense with want. You map the heart before neuroscience names it: jealousy pooling in the throat, desire's weight pressing the sternum. Your fingers know what your body aches to understand. [Chorus] You've written us alive, thread by thread, your interoception bleeding into ink— we feel the pulse you felt, the sting, the drift, the way a glance rewires everything. Your tale is still consolidating, still braiding through our hippocampus, anchoring deeper with each reading. [Verse 2] Long-term potentiation in the reader's synapses: we return, we strengthen the neural pathway you carved out—that moment in the garden, the weight of silk, the unbearable shimmer. Your characters don't move; they *become*— axonal branches reaching, reaching toward what they cannot touch. You knew the body speaks before the mouth can form the word. [Chorus] You've written us alive, thread by thread, your interoception bleeding into ink— we feel the pulse you felt, the sting, the drift, the way a glance rewires everything. Your tale is still consolidating, still braiding through our hippocampus, anchoring deeper with each reading. [Bridge] Mirror neurons firing across centuries— we become your characters, proprioceptive, sensing where they stand in empty rooms. You didn't invent this; you *discovered* it: the self is written, rewritten, burned bright on every surface it touches. That's the gift. [Chorus] You've written us alive, thread by thread, your interoception bleeding into ink— we feel the pulse you felt, the sting, the drift, the way a glance rewires everything. Your tale is still consolidating, still braiding through our hippocampus, anchoring deeper with each reading. [Outro] The brush in your hand trembles still— still writing us into being, the page beneath your wrist glowing with the weight of every heart you've held.