Boleskine on Loch Ness (Aleister Crowley)

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
Your fingers trace the sigils burning bright,
synaptic pathways firing into night—
neuroplasticity rewires how you think,
each ritual a synapse on the brink.
You mapped the circuits of the human soul,
cortical remapping made you whole,
the Book of Law your mirror-neuron script,
where predictive coding rules your grip.
Your will commands the phantom energies,
long-term potentiation sets you free,
each incantation strengthens axonal bone,
the wires of your cosmos fully grown.

[Chorus]
You are the magus of the will,
synaptic thunder bending still,
your voice a frequency that knows
how every hidden current flows.
The theta waves within your chest
contain what all the rest confessed—
you rite the world alive, alive,
your neurons dance, your visions thrive.

[Verse 2]
Your hippocampal vaults consolidate
the dreams you summoned through that golden gate,
interoception feels your body's song,
proprioception proves you've belonged all along.
The Golden Dawn, a scaffold for the mind,
where myelination made the pathways bind,
you grafted will onto the nervous frame,
turned flesh to electricity and flame.

[Chorus]
You are the magus of the will,
synaptic thunder bending still,
your voice a frequency that knows
how every hidden current flows.
The theta waves within your chest
contain what all the rest confessed—
you rite the world alive, alive,
your neurons dance, your visions thrive.

[Bridge]
Neurogenesis blooming in your crown,
you never let the old belief burn down,
you built cathedrals in the limbic fire,
each synapse stretched to reach what you desire.

[Chorus]
You are the magus of the will,
synaptic thunder bending still,
your voice a frequency that knows
how every hidden current flows.
The theta waves within your chest
contain what all the rest confessed—
you rite the world alive, alive,
your neurons dance, your visions thrive.

[Outro]
The sigil glows, the circles close complete,
your will inscribed in every heartbeat's sweet
and terrible pulse—the idlewild of sigil-craft,
where your conjured voltage lifts us up and laughed.