The Scissors at the End

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
Your scissors sang before your brush learned rest,
cutting through paper like synaptic fire—
each severed shape a phantom limb that knows
exactly where it lives. Your hands remapped
the visual cortex, taught the eye to hunger
for pure color without the weight of form.
Long-term potentiation built your syntax:
line after line, the same bold gesture strengthened,
until restraint became your wildest luxury.
You discovered what the brain already knew—
that joy requires subtraction, not accumulation.

[Chorus]
You held the scissors open like a prayer,
cutting joy into the air,
each shape a synapse learning to ignite,
phantom colors dancing without form or fight,
you taught the world that less could burn so bright,
less could burn so bright.

[Verse 2]
Hippocampal consolidation of the eye:
your collages built memories from scraps,
theta waves of creative ecstasy
rippling through your studio as you arranged
the blues and reds into their truest rest.
Mirror neurons fired in everyone who watched—
they felt the freedom in your floating shapes,
the proprioceptive knowledge that a line
could sing, could breathe, could simply *be* enough.
Your axons branched with every cut and paste,
neurogenesis blooming in your fingertips.

[Chorus]
You held the scissors open like a prayer,
cutting joy into the air,
each shape a synapse learning to ignite,
phantom colors dancing without form or fight,
you taught the world that less could burn so bright,
less could burn so bright.

[Bridge]
The scalpel of precision becomes the brush—
your cortical remapping rewires how we see.
What courage lived in editing away the shadow,
keeping only the essential roar of color.

[Chorus]
You held the scissors open like a prayer,
cutting joy into the air,
each shape a synapse learning to ignite,
phantom colors dancing without form or fight,
you taught the world that less could burn so bright,
less could burn so bright.

[Outro]
Your scissors rest. The paper waits, still singing.