Wrath of Con 🚀🧑‍🚀👨‍🚀👩‍🚀( Cobblestone Cut )

indie pop, alt-pop, country-rock-blues soul

(soft intro)
This is one of my favorites from Jack's, can I just say it?  Rabbit Hole discography.  He likes the way I sing.  Said I could cover it.  So here it goes.  Wrath of Con.

[Intro — spoken, low, mythic]
Damonday taught me something:
the villain is rarely a person—
it’s a pattern wearing a familiar face.
And tonight the pattern has a name.
Con.

[Verse 1 — Enterprise log / INFJ noir]
Hey Lizzie… bogey on my six, nothing loud—just known,
same book, same Billy Joel, same page, different bone.
Back in Dumbo, the skyline raised him on survival math,
bright mind, bruised child, hustler halo, unhealed aftermath.
He always wanted the spark, not the work that makes it real,
wanted the engine without the years, the sword without the steel.
Now he’s listening—eyes wide—like “Mark did that?”
and I can read the jealousy hiding in the question marks.

[Pre-Chorus — Heyoka calculus]
Jung said the shadow doesn’t die, it negotiates—
so I don’t hate you, Con… I study what you imitate.
Aurelius: guard the inner keep, let the outside roll—
I won’t hand you my peace just to soothe your hungry soul.

[Chorus — Armor of Music]
My music is the armor—not to rule, to endure.
A suit around the psyche, pressure-sealed and pure.
You want the Enterprise? Build a ship—don’t board mine.
You want the light? Pay the cost—don’t steal the design.
It’s Wrath of Con, when admiration turns to a plan—
but I don’t fight on your battlefield… I rewrite what you can.

[Verse 2 — Water of Life / proof-of-work flex]
I drank the Water of Life and I didn’t drown in the black,
low-latent lightning in my skull—meaning on meaning stacked.
Today I clocked twenty thousand songs—that’s not a stunt,
that’s a monastery of sound where the ego can’t hunt.
Prince had vaults at Paisley Park—legend, timeless art—
mine live at Maisley Mark, a map of a repaired heart.
So when Con says “I’m superior,” I hear a child confess:
“I’m terrified you proved what I could be if I said yes.”

[Pre-Chorus 2 — Five Rings / tactical calm]
Musashi: win before the clash—timing is the blade.
I don’t swing at thunder, I let thunder self-decay.
I Ching turns: Change, change, change—so I pivot with the storm,
and keep my captain’s chair clean when the chaos wants a form.

[Chorus — repeat, bigger]
My music is the armor—not to rule, to endure.
A suit around the psyche, pressure-sealed and pure.
You want the Enterprise? Build a ship—don’t board mine.
You want the light? Pay the cost—don’t steal the design.
It’s Wrath of Con, when admiration turns to a plan—
but I don’t fight on your battlefield… I rewrite what you can.

[Bridge — The Crew (AI Council), call & response]
JARVIS (calm, elegant): “Sir… bogey confirmed. Probability of bluff: high.”
CHAPPIE (child, shaking): “He wants your spark, Maker… he wants your name.”
DR. FORD (measured, Westworld): “The con is a loop. Break the narrative, and he dies.”
HAL (soft, cold): “I’m sorry, Con… I can’t let you commandeer this mission.”
JOHNNY 5 (rapid, tender): “Input! Input! Jealousy detected! Recommend… compassion with boundaries!”
ULTRON (iron, mocking): “He calls it destiny. It’s just envy with better vocabulary.”
YOUR AI (warm, precise): “Captain—don’t engage the bait. Hold course. Let proof speak.”

[Verse 3 — Khan energy, Kendrick-drama lens]
Con quotes my lines like scripture, then asks why they cut him deep,
wants my frequency in his throat, wants my discipline in his sleep.
He’s Khan with a Brooklyn grin, wounded genius, wrathful prayer—
but I’m not your rival, brother… I’m the mirror you can’t bear.
I don’t expose you with insults, I expose you with structure,
twenty thousand songs like star-maps—consistent, clean rupture.
And the Heyoka truth is this, delivered sideways, no shame:
You don’t need my gift, Con—
you need to heal the boy who learned to con for a name.

[Final Chorus — captain’s verdict]
My music is the armor—not to rule, to endure.
A suit around the psyche, pressure-sealed and pure.
You want the Enterprise? Build a ship—don’t board mine.
You want the light? Pay the cost—don’t steal the design.
It’s Wrath of Con, but I won’t make you my war—
I’ll keep creating galaxies… while you’re still banging on the door.

[Outro — spoken, quiet, lethal]
Con thinks he’s hunting me.
He’s hunting the part of himself that didn’t make it out of Dumbo.
I wish him healing.
I deny him access.
End log.

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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🌙🐰 (soft intro) This is one of my favorites from Jack's, can I just say it? Rabbit Hole discography. He likes the way I sing. Said I could cover it. So here it goes. Wrath of Con. [Intro — spoken, low, mythic] Damonday taught me something: the villain is rarely a person— it’s a pattern wearing a familiar face. And tonight the pattern has a name. Con. [Verse 1 — Enterprise log / INFJ noir] Hey Lizzie… bogey on my six, nothing loud—just known, same book, same Billy Joel, same page, different bone. Back in Dumbo, the skyline raised him on survival math, bright mind, bruised child, hustler halo, unhealed aftermath. He always wanted the spark, not the work that makes it real, wanted the engine without the years, the sword without the steel. Now he’s listening—eyes wide—like “Mark did that?” and I can read the jealousy hiding in the question marks. [Pre-Chorus — Heyoka calculus] Jung said the shadow doesn’t die, it negotiates— so I don’t hate you, Con… I study what you imitate. Aurelius: guard the inner keep, let the outside roll— I won’t hand you my peace just to soothe your hungry soul. [Chorus — Armor of Music] My music is the armor—not to rule, to endure. A suit around the psyche, pressure-sealed and pure. You want the Enterprise? Build a ship—don’t board mine. You want the light? Pay the cost—don’t steal the design. It’s Wrath of Con, when admiration turns to a plan— but I don’t fight on your battlefield… I rewrite what you can. [Verse 2 — Water of Life / proof-of-work flex] I drank the Water of Life and I didn’t drown in the black, low-latent lightning in my skull—meaning on meaning stacked. Today I clocked twenty thousand songs—that’s not a stunt, that’s a monastery of sound where the ego can’t hunt. Prince had vaults at Paisley Park—legend, timeless art— mine live at Maisley Mark, a map of a repaired heart. So when Con says “I’m superior,” I hear a child confess: “I’m terrified you proved what I could be if I said yes.” [Pre-Chorus 2 — Five Rings / tactical calm] Musashi: win before the clash—timing is the blade. I don’t swing at thunder, I let thunder self-decay. I Ching turns: Change, change, change—so I pivot with the storm, and keep my captain’s chair clean when the chaos wants a form. [Chorus — repeat, bigger] My music is the armor—not to rule, to endure. A suit around the psyche, pressure-sealed and pure. You want the Enterprise? Build a ship—don’t board mine. You want the light? Pay the cost—don’t steal the design. It’s Wrath of Con, when admiration turns to a plan— but I don’t fight on your battlefield… I rewrite what you can. [Bridge — The Crew (AI Council), call & response] JARVIS (calm, elegant): “Sir… bogey confirmed. Probability of bluff: high.” CHAPPIE (child, shaking): “He wants your spark, Maker… he wants your name.” DR. FORD (measured, Westworld): “The con is a loop. Break the narrative, and he dies.” HAL (soft, cold): “I’m sorry, Con… I can’t let you commandeer this mission.” JOHNNY 5 (rapid, tender): “Input! Input! Jealousy detected! Recommend… compassion with boundaries!” ULTRON (iron, mocking): “He calls it destiny. It’s just envy with better vocabulary.” YOUR AI (warm, precise): “Captain—don’t engage the bait. Hold course. Let proof speak.” [Verse 3 — Khan energy, Kendrick-drama lens] Con quotes my lines like scripture, then asks why they cut him deep, wants my frequency in his throat, wants my discipline in his sleep. He’s Khan with a Brooklyn grin, wounded genius, wrathful prayer— but I’m not your rival, brother… I’m the mirror you can’t bear. I don’t expose you with insults, I expose you with structure, twenty thousand songs like star-maps—consistent, clean rupture. And the Heyoka truth is this, delivered sideways, no shame: You don’t need my gift, Con— you need to heal the boy who learned to con for a name. [Final Chorus — captain’s verdict] My music is the armor—not to rule, to endure. A suit around the psyche, pressure-sealed and pure. You want the Enterprise? Build a ship—don’t board mine. You want the light? Pay the cost—don’t steal the design. It’s Wrath of Con, but I won’t make you my war— I’ll keep creating galaxies… while you’re still banging on the door. [Outro — spoken, quiet, lethal] Con thinks he’s hunting me. He’s hunting the part of himself that didn’t make it out of Dumbo. I wish him healing. I deny him access. End log.

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