The Arithmetic of Canopy

Lyrics

**Central Image:** The arrow in flight — its arc from bow to mark, the moment of correction, the act of taking from excess and placing into need.

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[Verse 1]
Your hands know the bow like a body knows breath,
each finger a synapse firing the same ancient path,
the arrow nocked, the string drawn back to your cheek—
your mirror neurons read the forest's geometry,
predict the fall before the fletching leaves your grip,
and the wood becomes an extension of your will.

[Chorus]
You carved a corridor through the dense and bloated world,
took what hung too heavy and made it light again,
your aim was never cruelty—it was correction,
and every redistribution felt like coming home.

[Verse 2]
The greenwood taught you cortical remapping:
how to read the dappled light, the theta waves
of your own attention narrowing to the mark,
how long-term potentiation built your muscle memory
into something that couldn't miss, wouldn't hesitate,
your axonal branching reaching deeper into purpose.

[Chorus]
You carved a corridor through the dense and bloated world,
took what hung too heavy and made it light again,
your aim was never cruelty—it was correction,
and every redistribution felt like coming home.

[Bridge]
Your hippocampus stored each face that shifted
from hollow to full, hunger to satiation,
and that's the neuroscience of your joy:
you *felt* their relief consolidate in your own neurons,
their liberation became your own proprioceptive knowledge,
you knew in your body that imbalance had been righted.

[Chorus]
You carved a corridor through the dense and bloated world,
took what hung too heavy and made it light again,
your aim was never cruelty—it was correction,
and every redistribution felt like coming home.

[Outro]
The arrow still flies in the shape of your conviction,
from the bow of your necessity to the heart of what was wrong—
and it finds its mark every single time.