The Last Novel Was a Diagnosis

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
You've built a mansion in the mind's dark hall,
where every corridor branches into choice,
where consciousness itself becomes the call—
not answers ringing out, but conscience's voice.
Your characters spin through their own desire,
trapped in the loving knowledge of their flaw.

[Chorus]
You mapped the soul's obsidian terrain,
where goodness isn't given, it's a strain,
where loving means to see them as they are—
contingent, flawed, magnificent, and far
from rescue or redemption's easy hand.
You taught us how to actually understand.

[Verse 2]
Your synaptic threads reweave themselves through time,
long-term potentiation burning grooves
where moral weight consolidates—no rhyme,
just hippocampal truth in how we move.
You knew the brain rewires itself through thought,
that every act of attention reshapes the cell,
that seeing clearly is the hardest fought—
interoception reading love's own bell.

[Chorus]
You mapped the soul's obsidian terrain,
where goodness isn't given, it's a strain,
where loving means to see them as they are—
contingent, flawed, magnificent, and far
from rescue or redemption's easy hand.
You taught us how to actually understand.

[Bridge]
Your mirror neurons fired in the dark,
predictive coding mapping every face—
you knew that witnessing leaves its mark,
that love demands we hold a complicated space.
Not fantasy, not neat philosophy,
but dense, embodied, messy clarity.

[Chorus]
You mapped the soul's obsidian terrain,
where goodness isn't given, it's a strain,
where loving means to see them as they are—
contingent, flawed, magnificent, and far
from rescue or redemption's easy hand.
You taught us how to actually understand.

[Outro]
Your labyrinth keeps opening, room by room—
no exit sign, just deeper, clearer sight,
where loving someone means refusing bloom,
and choosing consciousness as its own light.

---

**WORD COUNT: 273 words** ✓