Save My Soul
A/N: I am sooo sorry for using such a crappy song! It's just that this was originally WAY too short (not that it's much better now) and I needed to make it longer, and for some reason, I decided to add lyrics. And this was the best song I could think of. Please, please, I'm begging you (in Boyz 2 Men mode) down on bended knee... Well, your reviews are very much appreciated. On the off chance that anyone likes this, please tell me. I'm considering writing a much longer fic about Percy and another character, whom you'd never suspect. (No, I'm not going to make Percy gay and after Harry, either.) Um, yeah, well if anyone thinks I should do that, please let me know. I apologize once again for what you're about to read. And I don't own this stuff.
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People living their lives for you on TV
They say they're better than you and you agree
He says, "Hold my calls for me I must go"
The Boss says, "Come here boy, there ain't nothin' for free"
Another doctor's bill, a lawyer's bill,
Another cute cheap thrill
You know you love him if you put him in your will but...
I heard a Muggle song the other day. It made me think.
I'm not exactly a lovable guy. I don't have friends or a girlfriend; I had Penny, but she's long since given up on me completely. I don't blame her at all. Even my family doesn't understand. I don't blame them either. God knows I don't understand me.
Who will save your soul when it comes to the flowers now?
Who will save your soul after all the lies that you told, boy?
Who will save your soul if you won't save your own?
This all probably seems a bit off, coming from me. The great Percy Weasley always knows what he wants: a career in the Ministry, a successful, prosperous career involving horrifying amounts of money... Of course that's what Percy Weasley wants. Or... is it? I don't even know anymore.
We try to hustle them, try to bustle them, try to cuss them
The cops want someone to bust down on Orleans Avenue
Another day, another dollar, another war, another tower
Went up to where the homeless had their homes
When I was younger, I knew I was different. I saw the rift it created between me and other people, even at that age, and I didn't like it at all. I looked up to my older brothers. Bill and Charlie, they knew what they wanted. They got it. And everybody liked them.
I wanted that.
So we pray to as many different gods as there are flowers
But we call religion our friend
We're so worried about saving our souls
Afraid that God will take his toll
That we forget to begin
I tried. In my own typical Percy way, I tried. I looked at the world around me from my eleven-year-old perspective and I decided I wanted the two things presently most out of my reach: power and money. Money and power. Either way, I fixated myself. I am a very stubborn person. From that time on, my ambitions grew bigger and bigger until they just consumed me.
Which is how I, at nineteen years of age, became the new Scrooge. Now... well, look at me. Running reports on cauldron bottoms, for God's sake!
Who will save your soul when it comes to the berries now?
Who will save your soul after all the lies that you told, boy?
Who will save your soul if you won't save your own?
I've even managed to isolate myself from my entire family. The only speak to me when it's absolutely necessary. Ron doesn't even trust me, or like me, I can just tell. My own brother! Fred and George have managed to turn my entire life into a perpetual joke that everyone but me finds funny. Bill and Charlie aren't around enough to have anything but a very distant, very self-obligatory, fondness for me. My parents, bless them, are far too wrapped up in more important matters to do much other than half-heartedly praise me for what I do and be there for me without... really being there for me. Ginny, I think, sees me more than the others do. There's a barrier between us, but I think she takes in all this, in her quiet way. I find a little bit of comfort in that.
We try to hustle them, try to bustle them, try to cuss them
The cops want someone to bust down on Orleans Avenue
Another day, another dollar, another war, another tower
Went up to where the homeless had their homes
But still, when I look in the mirror, I literally feel sick. I've become some kind of out-of-control CEO wannabe Frankenstein, and I can't stop. The gap between me and whatever friends and family I had is too wide to bridge. The only escape I have from the pain of this detachment is my work. I throw myself into it, which only serves to add to my misery. It's a vicious cycle. And it's eating me alive.
So we pray to as many different gods as there are flowers
But we call religion our friend
We're so worried about saving our souls
Afraid that God will take his toll
That we forget to begin
Oh sure, I try to break myself out of this, but it's hopeless. The only way I know how to communicate with them drives them farther away. I live in my own world now. Alone.
Who will save your soul when it comes to the berries now?
Who will save your soul after all the lies that you told, boy?
Who will save your soul if you won't save your own?