The File With My Name On It ( Live at The Cobblestone, Dublin )

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🌙🐰 JackRabbit Slims is the creative persona of Mark Damon Bitkower, a high-output Suno lyricist building a serialized mythological music universe through AI-assisted songcraft. His work blends Jungian shadow work, Joseph Campbell’s hero’s journey, noir cinema, trauma recovery, INFJ pattern recognition, and forensic empathy into what functions less like a playlist and more like a living novel. Across tens of thousands of songs, JackRabbit Slims turns personal history, archetypal psychology, and cinematic world-building into battle hymns for outsiders, introverts, wounded healers, and sovereign minds. ( Home of Chaos Crew & Cobblestone) [Spoken Intro] Tonight at The Cobblestone, rain against the windows, red moon over Dublin, Jackrabbit Slims glowing green on the old oak bar. She opened a black notebook and said, “This isn’t about holding grudges. I forgave some of these people years ago. Turns out the last person I had to forgive was me.” [Verse 1] I kept the exact expression, the sentence, date, and time, the little warning underneath the beautifully rehearsed line. Every promise with a fracture, every kindness with a seam, every moment something whispered, “This is not quite what it seems.” I never built a gallows. I never prayed you’d fall. I just filed what happened in a room behind it all. Because the wound was not the lesson. The meaning mattered more. I needed to remember what I’d opened up the door for. [Chorus] There’s a file with my name on it buried underneath the rest, every time I knew the answer and argued with my chest. I forgave you years ago, love. That was never why I stayed. I was trying to forgive myself for every warning I explained away. [Verse 2] Forgiveness lives upstairs, memory sleeps below. My heart released the debt, but my body kept the code. I could wish you something peaceful, never need to see you bleed, and still remember perfectly what taught me what I need. They said, “If you forgave me, why remember what I did?” Like healing meant pretending there was nothing underneath. But forgetting is not mercy. Amnesia isn’t grace. Sometimes wisdom is remembering without returning to the place. [Chorus] There’s a file with my name on it buried underneath the rest, every time I knew the answer and argued with my chest. I forgave you years ago, love. That was never why I stayed. I was trying to forgive myself for every warning I explained away. [Verse 3] Looking back, I knew it early— the story changed its clothes, the compliment had something sharp beneath the little rose. I saw how you behaved when you thought nobody could see. Then called my intuition fear and put the doubt on me. Benefit of doubt became a room without a clock. I kept explaining red flags till the door forgot its lock. So every file held two names, though I only blamed you then: one for what you chose to do, one for why I stayed again. [Bridge] But I will not run the courtroom till the final breath I take. Judge, prosecutor, defendant— all for one old mistake. I’ll keep the rule, release the transcript. Keep the compass, burn the trial. Take the lesson from the wreckage, leave the wreckage in the file. And to the younger me who catalogued the night: You were trying to protect us. You were trying to get it right. You don’t have to guard the cabinet. I’ve got it now. Go live. [Final Chorus] There’s a file with my name on it, and tonight I close it first. Not because my instinct failed me, not because the love was cursed. I forgive the one who trusted. I forgive the one who stayed. I forgive the heart that saw the signs and hoped they’d fade away. There’s a file with my name on it. I don’t need it anymore. I kept the lesson. Kept the radar. Left the paperwork beside the door. [Outro] So raise the green glass slowly for the ones who loved all in. For the ones whose deepest injury became discernment in the end. She closed the black notebook. Outside, rain moved down the glass. Inside, the archive stayed where it was. She did not burn it. She did not worship it. She simply stopped living there. And under the red moon, with absinthe burning blue, the hardest case finally closed. Not theirs. Hers.