Seventy-Two Tributary Kings (Prester John)

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
Your phantom kingdom glows behind the veil of sand and sea,
A synapse firing across the map where no one's meant to see—
Your cortical remapping sketched in rumors, traced in gold,
Long-term potentiation burning brighter as the story's told.
You planted axonal branches through a thousand merchant's dreams,
Mirror neurons firing: we became your searching schemes.
Your predictive coding sang before the caravans set sail,
Myelination swift as whisper, nerve-wrapped in a prophet's tale.

[Chorus]
Oh, the letter that you sent but never reached,
Theta waves of longing on a shore we couldn't breach—
Your words made neurogenesis bloom in hearts so far,
A kingdom built on synaptic fire, brighter than a star.
The letter that you sent but never reached.

[Verse 2]
Your hippocampal consolidation carved through doubt and time,
Every scroll a proof of grace, every line a paradigm.
You dared the interoception of a world that held its breath,
Proprioception mapping joy through legendary breadth.
Your axonal architecture wired hope through Christendom's own spine,
Long-term potentiation aching: "This compassion must be mine."
The cortical remapping of the possible itself—
You rewired what we knew of kingdom, mercy, commonwealth.

[Chorus]
Oh, the letter that you sent but never reached,
Theta waves of longing on a shore we couldn't breach—
Your words made neurogenesis bloom in hearts so far,
A kingdom built on synaptic fire, brighter than a star.
The letter that you sent but never reached.

[Bridge]
Ata kak, the rhythm syncs—your phantom throne alive,
Typhon-propelled through centuries, idlewild and thriving.
Syn-textured hope, you sighs against the dark,
Neuro-blazing every quest that seeks your spark.

[Chorus]
Oh, the letter that you sent but never reached,
Theta waves of longing on a shore we couldn't breach—
Your words made neurogenesis bloom in hearts so far,
A kingdom built on synaptic fire, brighter than a star.
The letter that you sent but never reached.

[Outro]
So fold it one more time, that scroll of synapse-light—
The words that never arrived are radiant tonight.