[Verse 1]
Deep behind your eyebrows, wedged in tight and small,
A bone shaped like a creature spreading wings against the wall,
Sphenoid wears the Greek word "sphen," a wedge of bone and stone,
Pull it from the skull alone, it's a bat in flight, full grown,
Butterfly of bone, antennae made of wing,
Holding up the middle like the keystone of a ring.
[Chorus]
Butterfly and sieve, locked wing to wing,
One's a saddle for a gland, one's a screen that lets scent sing,
Sphenoid's the wedge that the whole skull leans upon,
Ethmoid's the strainer where your sense of smell is drawn,
Say it slow now, sphen-oid, eth-moid, bone by bone,
The face and skull shake hands right here, this is their common home.
[Verse 2]
Right in the middle, a dip carved soft and round,
Shaped like a saddle where the Turkish riders sat and found their ground,
Sella turcica cradles something precious, small and pale,
The pituitary gland sits snug, the conductor, never frail,
It whispers hormones out to every corner, every vein,
While the wedge of bone stands guard against the strain.
[Verse 3]
Now the ethmoid enters, lighter than a thought,
A honeycomb of sieve-holes where the smell-nerves get caught,
Cribriform's its ceiling, cribrum means a sieve in Latin speech,
Tiny holes like pinpricks, just a hairsbreadth each,
Nerve threads thread the needle, climbing up from nose to brain,
Carrying the smell of coffee, rain, or jasmine through that lane.
[Chorus]
Butterfly and sieve, locked wing to wing,
One's a saddle for a gland, one's a screen that lets scent sing,
Sphenoid's the wedge that the whole skull leans upon,
Ethmoid's the strainer where your sense of smell is drawn,
Say it slow now, sphen-oid, eth-moid, bone by bone,
The face and skull shake hands right here, this is their common home.
[Bridge]
Crack that sieve in a tumble or a blow,
The smell of bread, of smoke, of pine might simply go,
Anosmia creeps in quiet, stealing scent away,
And clear fluid might start leaking, dripping down to greet the day,
That's the brain's own river, finding an escape,
Through a broken cribriform, a sieve with a torn shape,
And both these bones reach outward, past the skull's own frame,
Seven bones build each eye socket, orbit is the name,
Sphenoid and the ethmoid help the architecture there,
Face and skull and eye socket, woven bone and air.
[Chorus]
Butterfly and sieve, locked wing to wing,
One's a saddle for a gland, one's a screen that lets scent sing,
Sphenoid's the wedge that the whole skull leans upon,
Ethmoid's the strainer where your sense of smell is drawn,
Say it slow now, sphen-oid, eth-moid, bone by bone,
The face and skull shake hands right here, this is their common home.
[Outro]
Butterfly wedged deep, the sieve up top so thin,
Saddle holds the gland, the scent comes drifting in,
Sphenoid, ethmoid, bone to bone they call,
Two small shapes connecting the whole shape of the skull.