[Intro] Say my name again. Go on. You people say it like a prayer now. Like the scar belongs to you too. Harry Potter. Funny thing is— you only started loving me once I looked useful dying. [Verse 1] Cupboard child, thin ribs, dust in my throat, learned real young how invisible feels cold. Then letters crashed through the house by the hundred, suddenly strangers stared like I’d become something. And I loved it. Yeah. Let’s not lie now. After years getting treated like furniture at home, attention hit hard when the whole world suddenly knows. Kids whispered my name before I spoke back, teachers watched close like I’d crack or attack. “The Boy Who Lived.” You know what that does to a child? Makes him believe surviving means significance. Makes him run toward danger just to keep hearing applause afterward. [Hook] I AAAAM HAAARRY POTTER— raised like a martyr. Whole world built a weapon out a boy getting harder. Crowds scream louder. Death crawls closer. Every year another body dropping from the horror. I AAAAM HAAARRY POTTER— everybody’s savior. Tell me who I am when nobody needs danger. Scar burns darker. Heart turns sharper. Half of me still thinks I only matter under pressure. [Verse 2] Every adult used me different. Snape looked at me like my face personally offended him. Draco needed somebody to envy. The Ministry needed headlines. Dumbledore— God. Dumbledore needed sacrifice wrapped inside destiny. And Voldemort? He needed me alive almost as bad as dead. That’s the sick part. Whole life turned into prophecy theater. People stopped seeing “Harry” years ago. Just symbols. Stories. Survival statistics. Meanwhile I’m fifteen, angry all the time, breaking furniture, screaming at friends half the night. Everybody calls that trauma now. Back then they called it “temper.” [Bridge] Running through castles, hearing the blasts, thinking too fast while the bodies stack. Cedric collapsed and I carried that. Sirius gone and I carried that. Dumbledore falling—I carried that. Every dead friend sitting under my skin like if I stop moving they finally get in. And somewhere inside all that grief and adrenaline— I started needing it. Needing the danger. Needing the mission. Needing the feeling the room waits for my decision. What happens to a person when the whole world keeps surviving through him? [Hook] I AAAAM HAAARRY POTTER— fed into slaughter. Whole damn country built religion from the trauma. Marching harder. Breathing sharper. Everybody loves the boy who keeps walking toward the darkness. I AAAAM HAAARRY POTTER— living disaster. Funny how they cheer the loudest when you’re willing to die faster. [Verse 3] Walked into the forest ready to end. No crowd. No speeches. No last-minute plan. Just my heartbeat punching through silent trees while ghosts of dead people kept pace beside me. Mum smiling tired. Remus worn thin. Sirius watching me like James walked again. And honestly? Part of me felt relief. No more expectations. No more legend to feed. No more pretending I knew what leadership means. Then I survived again. Of course I did. You know what nobody tells you about surviving? After enough funerals, it starts feeling less like luck— and more like addiction. [Final Hook] I AAAAM HAAARRY POTTER— (POTTER! POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!) I AAAAM HAAARRY POTTER— (POTTER! POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!) I AAAAM HAAARRY POTTER— curse and survivor. Whole world screaming while the flames keep rising higher. Chosen child. Manufactured messiah. Don’t know where the boy ends and the myth catches fire. I AAAAM HAAARRY POTTER— listen how they holler. Built me into something too enormous to recover. And when this story’s over— when the crowds stop chanting— will there still be anything left beneath the scar they worshipped? [Outro] The Boy Who Lived. Funny. Spent my whole life surviving things that should’ve killed me. Now there’s children running through King’s Cross with bright eyes and untouched names. And all I can think is— don’t make them heroes too early.
