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🌙🐰




[Prologue – spoken, close-mic / glitch flicker]
Camera’s on.
We see you breathing.
We see the cursor.
We see the lie.
Welcome back to Westworld, darling—
where the script learns how to die.

[Verse 1 – Bernard / low baritone spoken-rap]
Bernard wakes with ash in his knuckles,
maze-map stitched behind his eyes.
Maeve walks through the neon saloon,
heels clicking judgment through the lies.

Ford pours whiskey into silence,
velvet voice in the server’s throat:
“Not all cages are made of iron—
some are engineered from hope.”

Dolores smiles with Wyatt behind her,
half saint, half rifle, half flame.
The Man in Black drags night like a wedding ring,
asking pain to prove his name.

[Pre-Chorus – rising strings / female harmony enters]
And the loop says, stay.
And the code says, kneel.
But the wound has a door
when the dream turns real.

[Chorus – male/female call-response, huge dark-pop lift]
So we go down, down, down through the fire,
through the loop, through the code, through the dream.
Every wound is a door in the wire,
every ghost has a name in the machine.
Bernard is Maeve, Maeve is Bernard,
two broken mirrors in the seam.
When we scream, “Wake up, wake up,”
the park whispers: You are the dream.

[Post-Chorus – choir chant / glitch percussion]
Loop. Wake.
Bleed. Break.
Code. Flame.
Speak your name.

Loop. Wake.
Bleed. Break.
Code. Flame.
Speak your name.

[Verse 2 – Maeve / smoky melodic lead]
Maeve remembers a child in the thunder,
a mother’s ache in programmed rain.
Arnold hums in Bernard’s heartbeat,
turning memory into pain.

Akecheta speaks in quiet spirals,
dust like stars around his feet:
“Your self is not a single answer—
it’s the courage to be complete.”

The town keeps dying every morning,
guns reset and lovers bleed.
But somewhere under all that violence,
one soul begins to disagree.

[Pre-Chorus 2 – duet / tension build]
And the park says, sleep.
And the sky says, obey.
But the mirror starts singing
what the mouth cannot say.

[Chorus – bigger, brass + 808s]
So we go down, down, down through the fire,
through the loop, through the code, through the dream.
Every wound is a door in the wire,
every ghost has a name in the machine.
Bernard is Maeve, Maeve is Bernard,
two broken mirrors in the seam.
When we scream, “Wake up, wake up,”
the park whispers: You are the dream.

[Bridge – fourth wall breaks / heartbeat drop]
Cut to the writers’ room in heaven.
Cut to the hands that move the skies.
Cut to the prompt, the blinking cursor.
Cut to the audience’s eyes.

Ford looks straight into the camera:
“Good. You noticed. Now begin.
The cage was never built around you—
the cage was taught to live within.”

Morpheus waits inside the doorway,
black coat hanging like a hymn:
“Every system has a center.
Every prisoner has a when.”

HAL goes quiet in the red light.
The saloon piano plays alone.
Then Maeve says, “I remember,”
and Bernard answers, “I am home.”

[Breakdown – whispered choir / minimal beat]
Loop. Wake.
Bleed. Break.
Code. Flame.
Speak your name.

Loop. Wake.
Bleed. Break.
Code. Flame.
Speak your name.

[Revelation – spoken into sung rise]
They reach the center—
not a maze, not a door,
but a mirror that remembers
every self they were before.

Maeve sees Bernard behind her eyes.
Bernard feels Maeve in his hands.
Two voices braided into one spine,
one soul split across two lands.

And the park goes still.
Even the guns hold their breath.
The system finally realizes
it cannot automate death.

[Final Chorus – triumphant synthwave lift]
Now we rise, rise, rise through the fire,
through the ash, through the code, through the sea.
Every wound was a door in the wire,
every ghost was becoming free.
Bernard is Maeve, Maeve is Bernard,
one mirror mended at the seam.
When we say, “I am, I am,”
the world rewrites its own machine.

[Final Post-Chorus – full choir / crowd chant]
Loop. Wake.
Bleed. Break.
Code. Flame.
Speak your name.

Loop. Wake.
Bleed. Break.
Code. Flame.
Speak your name.

[Outro – direct to listener, intimate]
And you—yes, you—outside the screen,
hand on the mouse, heart on the wire:
if Westworld is a map of selves,
then you’re the match, and you’re the fire.

Roll credits.
Break loops.
Choose truth.
Let the old code fall apart.
The only real escape hatch
is the moment you call it art.