The Letter His Friend Did Not Burn

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
You woke into wings one ordinary morning,
and your synaptic plasticity sang—
neurons rewiring, dendrites branching wild,
your cortical remapping a hymn to becoming.
The mirror neurons in your chest fired bright:
you felt what the insect felt, that textured horror
turning phantom-sweet, a discovery nobody asked for.
Your hippocampus locked it down, consolidated
each segment of the impossible into something
your prefrontal cortex had to accept—
the thrumming, the exoskeleton, the ache
of being something other than what you were.
But listen: you grinned at the absurdity,
that propulsive laughter when the world
keeps asking what you've become
and you answer only in sighs and silence.

[Chorus]
You are the door that opens inward,
the locked room singing from inside.
Your myelinated neurons fire joy
at every threshold, every metamorphosis—
you've taught us all: becoming breaks you beautifully open.

[Verse 2]
Long-term potentiation etched your agony exquisite,
each humiliation strengthened into art.
Your predictive coding brain kept expecting
the world to accept you—then it didn't—
and still you wrote, still you reached.
The interoception of your peculiar body,
the proprioception of isolation:
you mapped them both into cathedrals of prose.
Theta waves of fever dreams became
your most anthemic gift,
each neuronal branching a small resurrection,
showing us how being alien
could be the most alive thing ever.

[Chorus]
You are the door that opens inward,
the locked room singing from inside.
Your myelinated neurons fire joy
at every threshold, every metamorphosis—
you've taught us all: becoming breaks you beautifully open.

[Bridge]
The neurogenesis never stops in you—
new cells blooming even in captivity,
even in the shadows where you lived,
your synaptic fire kept burning,
kept transforming pain into witness,
witness into truth.

[Chorus]
You are the door that opens inward,
the locked room singing from inside.
Your myelinated neurons fire joy
at every threshold, every metamorphosis—
you've taught us all: becoming breaks you beautifully open.

[Outro]
So here you stay, wings folded, grinning—
not the insect anymore, but the man
who became the insect and lived it joyfully,
who turned the locked room into infinite light.