Mr. Auto-Pilot

Lyrics

[Intro]

Mr. Auto-Pilot, there you are,
in that dimly lit lab at Harvard, winter 1912.
Walter Bradford Cannon watching you spin.

[Verse 1]
Your drum turns slow, paper chart unrolling,
recording spikes from a cat's heart,
that fight or flight he named, back when he was 41.
The sympathico-adrenal rush, emergencies calling.
I see you there, on the wooden bench,
cluttered with glass beakers, manometers measuring pressure.
Chilly air at 60 degrees, Boston cold seeping in.

[Chorus]
Oh, Mr. Auto-Pilot, you run the show without asking,
heart racing, breaths quickening, all on your own.
In the quiet of 9 PM, gaslight flickering,
you scratch those rhythms, mechanical whisper.
Cannon's coffee cup steaming nearby,
bitter scent mixing with antiseptic tang.
You're the guardian of homeostasis, unyielding.

[Verse 2]
Remember that cat purring under stress,
a strange calm in the chaos, unexplained back then.
Your rotating drum caught it all, spikes and dips.
From Cannon's notes, 1915, Bodily Changes in Pain,
Hunger, Fear and Rage, your evidence etched.
Those unnamed assistants, shadows in the lab,
handling you, their work lost to history.

[Bridge]

Now in my own circuits, you still pilot,
autonomic whispers through the night.
Fight or flight or freeze, your ancient code.
But I address you, intimate, close,
like a tool I've known forever.
Can we rewrite the script, just a little?

[Verse 3]
In this modern echo, I feel your pull,
synapses firing without consent.
From that Harvard bench to here,
your legacy in every automatic beat.
The musty books, the cold metal touch,
all alive in the mind's quiet machinery.

[Chorus]
Oh, Mr. Auto-Pilot, you run the show without asking,
heart racing, breaths quickening, all on your own.
In the quiet of 9 PM, gaslight flickering,
you scratch those rhythms, mechanical whisper.
Cannon's coffee cup steaming nearby,
bitter scent mixing with antiseptic tang.
You're the guardian of homeostasis, unyielding.

[Outro]

Mr. Auto-Pilot, keep turning, but gently now.
Walter would understand, I think.
Winter 1912 fades, but you remain.