The Default Mode

Lyrics

**Central Image:** Three sisters wielding vengeance as a sacred instrument—the winged pursuit, the relentless tracking of oath-breakers, the hounding that remakes the guilty conscience into a site of visible reckoning.

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[Verse 1]
You arrive on black wings where the oath turns to ash,
Your shadow cortex-sharp, splitting light into thirds.
The guilty one trembles—your mirror neurons fire,
Reading every micro-expression of his fracture,
And you *know* before knowing, the way synaptic plasticity
Has rewired your whole being into prophecy.
You don't forget. You can't. Long-term potentiation
Has soldered every betrayal into your spine.

[Chorus]
You are the hounding that makes a man *see*,
The three-part recursion of consequence,
Wings drumming the air until he *confesses*,
Your laughter a frequency only the guilty can hear—
This is how you remake the world,
Bright-eyed and unstoppable.

[Verse 2]
Your proprioception is the map of his guilt,
You *feel* where he bleeds before blood shows.
Theta waves spike in your brain when you hunt—
That deep rhythmic knowing that lives below language.
You've grown new pathways, axonal branching
Like roots through the underworld itself,
And every chase is neurogenesis,
Every caught oath-breaker a memory made flesh.

[Chorus]
You are the hounding that makes a man *see*,
The three-part recursion of consequence,
Wings drumming the air until he *confesses*,
Your laughter a frequency only the guilty can hear—
This is how you remake the world,
Bright-eyed and unstoppable.

[Bridge]
Your spindle cells—the rarest, largest—
They feel what he *won't* feel, the moral weight
He's shed like skin. You've become
The conscience he murdered. You wear it like light.

[Chorus]
You are the hounding that makes a man *see*,
The three-part recursion of consequence,
Wings drumming the air until he *confesses*,
Your laughter a frequency only the guilty can hear—
This is how you remake the world,
Bright-eyed and unstoppable.

[Outro]
Your wings fold where the oath now holds.
He kneels. He *remembers* what it means.
You've won again—not with mercy,
But with the radiant certainty that some debts
Were always meant to be paid.

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**Word count: 289**