Cassandra at the Cobblestone

By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe © 2026 Mark Damon Bitkower. Lyrics & written content are original and owned by the author. All rights reserved. No reproduction, redistribution, or use without prior written permission. 🐰🌙𝕵𝖆𝖈𝖐𝕽𝖆𝖇𝖇𝖎𝖙 𝕾𝖑𝖎𝖒𝖘🌙🐰 [Spoken Intro] The funny thing about seeing it coming… is nobody calls it vision until the house is already on fire. [Verse 1] There’s a hush in The Cobblestone, Dublin rain outside, fiddle in the corner like a ghost trying to hide. I wear my old scars like a silver rosary, and every man who lied became a verse in me. He was handsome as thunder, soft as a blade, promised me forever, then sharpened what he made. I felt the ending early, couldn’t say it right, just a sealed black letter in the middle of the night. [Pre-Chorus] They said, “Girl, you’re heavy.” They said, “Let it go.” But the floorboards were talking in the voice I know. [Chorus] I was Cassandra at the Cobblestone, singing what the room wouldn’t hear. I saw the smoke before the flame, felt the truth before the fear. They called it madness, called it pain, called it too much heart and wine. Then the roof came down exactly where I drew the line. I was Cassandra at the Cobblestone, not cursed because I knew— cursed because I told the truth before the truth came due. [Verse 2] I don’t need a crystal, don’t need second sight, I just hear the silence before somebody lies. A pause in the breathing, a shift in the chair, the shape of betrayal already in the air. My ex-husband taught me what a pattern costs, how a woman can be married and already lost. He taught me the language of a beautiful disguise, now I read a room like smoke reads the skies. [Pre-Chorus] I used to give warnings with shaking hands. Now I sing them calmly and let the fire land. [Chorus] I was Cassandra at the Cobblestone, singing what the room wouldn’t hear. I saw the smoke before the flame, felt the truth before the fear. They called it madness, called it pain, called it too much heart and wine. Then the roof came down exactly where I drew the line. I was Cassandra at the Cobblestone, not cursed because I knew— cursed because I told the truth before the truth came due. [Bridge] Here’s to every woman called dramatic, when her body knew the storm. Here’s to every quiet prophet keeping watch to keep warm. Here’s to every “you’re overthinking,” every “baby, let it be,” every smile that hid a knife from everybody else but me. I am not bitter. I am not blind. I am not haunted. I am refined. He was my teacher, cruel and low— first he taught me heartbreak, then he taught me no. [Verse 3] Now the pints stop rising when I lean into the mic, there’s a man at the bar with regret in his eyes. The room turns slowly, like a tide to the moon, as I sing what I survived into an old Irish tune. I don’t save disasters that refuse to be named, don’t stand in the doorway of somebody else’s flames. I speak once clearly, then I leave it alone, truth has its own feet, and it finds its way home. [Final Chorus] I’m Cassandra at the Cobblestone, singing what the room finally hears. I saw the smoke before the flame, but I won’t carry every fear. Call it vision, call it grief, call it too much heart and wine. I learned peace is not surrender when I trust my own mind. I’m Cassandra at the Cobblestone, not broken, not blue— I just stopped begging deafened rooms to bless what I knew. [Outro] So let the fiddle cry low, let the last pint shine. Some truths arrive late, but they arrive on time. And if you ask who made me this calm in the glow— I’ll raise one up to the man who taught me no.