Track 2 – Potter of Suburbia
I. Jesus of Little Whinging
He's the son of prophecy,
The Jesus of Little Whinging,
From the Bible of "none of the above",
On a steady diet of,
Hardly any food at all,
No one ever cared for him in that hell,
As far as he can tell,
At least clearly not the Dursleys
But there's nothing wrong with me,
Even though I'm not like he,
My colour may be green,
But you should listen to me.
Never played magic pick-up-sticks,
Sitting on his crucifix,
His cupboard room is his private womb,
The Dursleys would leave him there all day,
To do whatever there he pleased,
Praying on his bended knees,
Someone would come
Beat a magic drum,
And take him back to where he came from...
But there's nothing wrong with me,
Even though I'm not like he,
My colour may be green,
But you should listen to me.
II. Cupboard of the Dead
At the centre of his world,
On Privet Drive,
In the #4 house where he was barely alive,
The motto was just a lie...
It says: home is where your heart is,
But what a shame,
'Cause everyone's heart,
Doesn't beat the same,
We're beating out of time
Cupboard of the dead,
Underneath the Dursleys' lone stairway,
Steps misleading to nowhere,
Cupboard of the damned,
Lost children with dirty faces today,
No one really seems to care
I read the graffiti,
On the cupboard wall,
Like the holy scriptures of a Quidditch ball,
And so it seemed to confess,
It didn't say much,
But it only confirmed that,
The centre of his world,
Was the end of the earth
And I could really care less
Cupboard of the dead,
Underneath the Dursleys' lone stairway,
Steps misleading to nowhere,
Cupboard of the damned,
Lost children with dirty faces today,
No one really seems to care
III. I Don't Care
I don't care, Gryffindor,
I don't care, Gryffindor,
I don't have Gryffindor care
I don't care, Gryffindor,
I don't care, Gryffindor,
I don't have Gryffindor care
I don't care, Gryffindor,
I don't care, Gryffindor,
I don't have Gryffindor care
I don't care, Gryffindor,
I don't care, Gryffindor,
I don't have Gryffindor care
I don't care!
Out parents are idiots, We're
Born and raised by hypocrites,
Harry Potter has never saved,
Us from lying in our graves,
We are the kids of war and peace,
From Privet Drive to the middle east,
We are the stories and disciples of,
The Potter of Suburbia
Land of make believe,
And it don't believe in me,
Land of make believe,
And I don't believe,
And I don't care!
IV. Dear The-Boy-Who-Lived
Dear The-Boy-Who-Lived, are you listening?
I can't remember a word that you were saying,
I was Demented, and it's all your fault.
That swirling demon made me insane and stole my soul.
Oh is there something that can fill the void?
Am I regarded any longer or ignored?
Nobody's perfect and I'm least of all,
For the lack of a better word, I'm no more than a doll.
V. Tales of Another Broken Home
To live, as a Malfoy,
Is to skip, being a boy,
To run, to run away,
You'd die, before you leave,
I, can't leave behind,
My family's storm of lies,
I lost, my faith to this,
This life, that don't exist
I can't run,
Can't run away
My world is one big list
I, can't leave behind,
My family's storm of lies,
And I walked this line,
A million and one bloody times,
A million-two.
I don't feel any shame,
I won't apologize
When there ain't nowhere you can go,
Running away from pain,
When you've been victimized,
Tales from another broken...
Home.
