The Three Laws and the Witchcraft Trial

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
Your mind traces the phantom path
where circles break and truth lives bent,
each orbit humming synapse-bright,
your cortical maps remapping light.
The heavens spin in your long-term potentiation—
every glance rewires what you'll know,
your fingers grip the compass rose,
and synaptic branches grow, grow, grow.
You sketched the sun off-center, off-kilter,
watched how celestial bodies sigh
through void-dark space in elegant ellipse,
no perfection, just the grip
of gravity's own mirror neurons,
firing as you mirror back the cosmos—
predictive coding with a quill.
Your eyes consumed the data-dust,
myelination speeding every thought,
each neurogenesis a fresh conviction:
beauty lives in the asymmetrical pull.

[Chorus]
You found the song in broken circles,
the grace in gravitational sighs,
your elliptical soul tilts toward the light,
you mapped the heavens through your own eyes,
and now the stars themselves obey
the mathematics of your joy,
the way your wonder never dies—
you're anthemic, alive, aloft.

[Verse 2]
Your hippocampal consolidation
stitches memory to meaning:
each planetary station spoke,
each retrograde a theta-wave meditation.
You felt it in your interoception—
the deep proprioceptive sense
that orbits breathe, that nothing flies
in perfect circles, that the mess
is where the music lives.
Your axonal branching split the difference
between Ptolemy's ghost-geometry
and the raw, propulsive truth:
ellipses hold the weight of worlds,
and you held them without trembling.

[Chorus]
You found the song in broken circles,
the grace in gravitational sighs,
your elliptical soul tilts toward the light,
you mapped the heavens through your own eyes,
and now the stars themselves obey
the mathematics of your joy,
the way your wonder never dies—
you're anthemic, alive, aloft.

[Bridge]
Not perfect. Not prescribed.
Just orbits burning bright,
just synapses that finally felt the pull
of something true.

[Chorus]
You found the song in broken circles,
the grace in gravitational sighs,
your elliptical soul tilts toward the light,
you mapped the heavens through your own eyes,
and now the stars themselves obey
the mathematics of your joy,
the way your wonder never dies—
you're anthemic, alive, aloft.

[Outro]
Your ellipse still spins us home.