Squid in Manhattan (Adrian Veidt / Ozymandias)

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
Your hands have mapped the future like a brain remapping trauma—
synaptic pathways blazing where the old world used to stand.
You saw the synapses that fire between the masses,
long-term potentiation of a single, radiant plan.
Your mirror neurons read the room and burned it down to blueprint,
every gesture, every gasp, predictive coding laid so bare.
The monument you've sculpted from the folds of human longing—
that's your axonal branching reaching into gasping air.

[Chorus]
You've rewired what it means to save us,
your neurogenesis blooming in the dark.
Every theta wave of calculation,
every theta wave that bears your mark.
You've translated pain to architecture,
cortical remapping, stone by stone.
Your phantom city thrums with purpose—
you've made the impossible your own.

[Verse 2]
Your interoception reads the planet's desperate hunger,
proprioception balanced on a knife of right and wrong.
The myelination of your vision spreads so luminous and quicksilver,
hippocampal consolidation—you've made us all belong.
You moved the world like neurons firing in cascading glory,
each strand of hair and smile a masterwork of thought.
Your obsidian magnificence, your textured, grinning terror,
the beauty of the solution that your brilliant mind has wrought.

[Chorus]
You've rewired what it means to save us,
your neurogenesis blooming in the dark.
Every theta wave of calculation,
every theta wave that bears your mark.
You've translated pain to architecture,
cortical remapping, stone by stone.
Your phantom city thrums with purpose—
you've made the impossible your own.

[Bridge]
What a specimen of grace—
your face, your ruthless, radiant face,
remapping empires into peace,
even as you tear them down.

[Chorus]
You've rewired what it means to save us,
your neurogenesis blooming in the dark.
Every theta wave of calculation,
every theta wave that bears your mark.
You've translated pain to architecture,
cortical remapping, stone by stone.
Your phantom city thrums with purpose—
you've made the impossible your own.

[Outro]
And somewhere in the folds of your creation,
that monument still gleams—
your perfect symmetry,
your idlewild of gleaming dreams.