Dolores at the Opening Gala (Dr. Robert Ford)

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
Your hand steady on the wand, conducting light through air—
synaptic plasticity dancing where your fingers dare.
Each flick rewrites the room, long-term potentiation blooming,
neurons firing in cascades, your mirror neurons grooming
the spell-paths in a thousand minds who watch and learn and grin.
You've remapped the cortex of wonder, let the phosphenes spin.
Your theta waves pulse rhythm through the darkened hall,
predictive coding every gesture—you've predicted it all.
The phantom limb of magic: it exists because you proved
that consciousness and wonder share the space where brains are moved.

[Chorus]
You cast the spell that teaches us to see,
your wand draws light where darkness used to be.
Axonal branching reaches through the air,
neurons sprouting neurons everywhere.
You've made the impossible a textured thing—
watch the room ignite with everything.

[Verse 2]
Your neurogenesis of awe: you birth it fresh each night,
myelination speeding joy along the optic flight.
The hippocampus anchors every gasp, each bright "Oh!"—
you've consolidated wonder in the places we don't know.
Your interoception reads the room's held breath and racing hearts,
proprioception of the crowd, the way the magic parts.
Each volunteer steps forward with their defenses shed,
you've rewired their predictive models in their head.

[Chorus]
You cast the spell that teaches us to see,
your wand draws light where darkness used to be.
Axonal branching reaches through the air,
neurons sprouting neurons everywhere.
You've made the impossible a textured thing—
watch the room ignite with everything.

[Bridge]
Phantom sensation of the card before you turn it—
you've taught us how the brain anticipates, to yearn it.
Every mystery solved rewires us for the next delight,
your synapse-lightning strikes and strikes and strikes.

[Chorus]
You cast the spell that teaches us to see,
your wand draws light where darkness used to be.
Axonal branching reaches through the air,
neurons sprouting neurons everywhere.
You've made the impossible a textured thing—
watch the room ignite with everything.

[Outro]
The wand catches light one last time in your palm—
and we are remapped, reborn, becalmed.