The Teenager Who Sat in the Chair

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
Your fingers traced the marble like synaptic fire,
each touch a long-term potentiation burning bright—
you held the ring, the keys, the weight of consecration,
and your cortex remapped itself a thousand times
learning power's architecture, its crooked geometry.
The throne became your body; your body became the throne.
Your mirror neurons fired in chambers thick with incense,
predicting every glance, every whispered doubt,
while hippocampal echoes crystallized your hunger—
not for prayer, but for the texture of command,
the phantom sensation of a crown that never left your skull,
even in the dark, especially in the dark.

[Chorus]
You built your heaven here, a tactile symphony,
you swung the censer and the sword at once—
synaptic branches reaching, reaching toward the light,
and every choice myelinated into certainty,
you phantom-felt the future in your fingertips,
you lived like thunder rolling through a hollow church.

[Verse 2]
Your interoception burned—the body keeping score,
blood rushing where it shouldn't, theta waves ascending,
your predictive coding screaming what you'd become.
You moved through those stone corridors like axons finding their way,
neurogenesis in the gardens where you played,
before the weight, before the rings, before the absolute.
Your proprioception knew every secret staircase,
every room where power pooled like wine,
every surface cool enough to press your fevered temples against.

[Chorus]
You built your heaven here, a tactile symphony,
you swung the censer and the sword at once—
synaptic branches reaching, reaching toward the light,
and every choice myelinated into certainty,
you phantom-felt the future in your fingertips,
you lived like thunder rolling through a hollow church.

[Bridge]
The spectral crown still circles your neurons,
your hands remember what they seized.

[Chorus]
You built your heaven here, a tactile symphony,
you swung the censer and the sword at once—
synaptic branches reaching, reaching toward the light,
and every choice myelinated into certainty,
you phantom-felt the future in your fingertips,
you lived like thunder rolling through a hollow church.

[Outro]
Your fingers on that marble—
they're still touching it,
still learning,
still reaching.