Disclaimer: I do not own Titanic

Disclaimer: I do not own 'Viva la Vida' or Coldplay

Disclaimer: This is my first Titanic fanfic so please R&R on where I can improve!

I used to rule the world

Seas would rise when I gave the word

Now in the mornings I sleep alone

Sweep the streets I used to own

Caledon Hockley survived the Titanic disaster...

Sort of.

Sure, he made it out of the ice waters all in one piece...

But something was missing...

Money.

Cal stood there among his other Brooks Brothers suit-ed fatcats,

October 29 1929,

Black Tuesday.

I used to roll the dice

Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes

Listen as the crowds would sing

"Now the old king is dead, long live the king"

Cal's mind filled with memories of better times as he watched his profits plummet.

"Well Mr. Rockefeller, explain WHY I should invest with you." Cal puffed on a cigar, only months prior to the event that would change his life.

"Cal, perhaps you should reconsider..." his betrothed, Rose lowered her eyes.

"Rose, keep your nose out of men's business." He gave her his signature caustic smirk. "These 'businessmen' need to realize who they are dealing with."

One minute I held the key

Next the walls were closed on me

And I discovered my castles stand

Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

"Cal you are BRILLIANT." the men in the Titanic's smoking room praised their idol.

"Mr. Hockley" Lovejoy whispered in his ear "the girl's not in her room."

"WHAT?" Cal harshly breathed and snarled "Is she with that vermin from third class?"

"I...I don't know..."

"FIND...OUT" Cal gave his bodyguard an icy glare then returned without a beat to his brandy.

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing

Roman Cavalry choirs are singing

Be my mirror, my sword my shield

My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can't explain

Once you go there was never

Never an honest word

And that was when I ruled the world

"Mr. Hockley, something has happened" Lovejoy had a look of panic in his eyes.

"What?" Cal haughtily rolled his eyes.

"The ship is going down."

It was the wicked and wild wind

Blew down the doors to let me in

Shattered windows and the sound of drums

People couldn't believe what I'd become

"What does a gentleman have to do to get a seat?" Cal grinned at one of the members of the ship's crew.

"Sir, NO amount of money is going to save you now." the attendant snarled as he attempted to corral the multitude of hysteric passengers.

Looking around frantically for a way out, Cal grabbed a toddler in rags,

Probably from third class.

"But I have a child!!" Cal sunk lower then he ever thought he would have to.

Revolutionaries wait

For my head on a silver plate

Just a puppet on a lonely string

Oh who would ever want to be king?

Cal sat in the rickety wooden lifeboat in complete silence.

He looked up at the starlit night and heaved silently.

Suddenly a thought clouded his entire mind,

'Where was Rose?'

He had her on the boat,

But she jumped off.

Had she made it?

Caledon Hockley doesn't cry,

But he came closer then he had hoped to that freezing night.

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing

Roman Cavalry choirs are singing

Be my mirror, my sword my shield

My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can't explain

I know Saint Peter won't call my name

Never an honest word

But that was when I ruled the world

"CAL!" Donetello, the man next to him screamed over the roar of the factory machines.

Cal snapped out of his thought bubble and looked at the man.

"YOU'D BETTER SNAP OUTTA IT OR THEY'LL FIRE YOU!" he enunciated over the hubbub of the cramped room.

Yes, he, Caledon Hockley had been reduced,

To a factory worker.

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing

Roman Cavalry choirs are singing

Be my mirror, my sword my shield

My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can't explain

I know Saint Peter won't call my name

Never an honest word

But that was when I ruled the world

Cal stumbled into his cramped tenement after the thirteen-hour day.

His head spun with old memories.

He looked around the single room he was now sleeping in,

And let out a long, loud guttural moan.

He made a beeline to his tattered mattress and stuck his grimy hand underneath the rough cloth.

He pulled out a sleek wooden box,

Opened it,

And ran his fingers over the cool metal of his revolver.

The same one that had shot when he was scrambling after that blonde boy who had stolen his fiancée.

His hand trembled as he loaded it,

And uttered his last words.