[Dante] Wasted Youth
So that "sleeping" thing Jaqui was going to do didn't work out. She'll probably be going to sleep after this, but some important stuff came up. In the meantime, I discovered this little spoken-word gem by Jim Steinman that makes me think of Nevan. Nevan's... my demonic guitar. Devil Arm. Was a succubus before she was a guitar. She summons lightning. And swarms of bats. Doesn't make her the best choice for playing for the hell of it, but I'm kinda fond of her.
...That probably makes no sense to anyone not used to how my world works. Just go with it.
I remember everything!
I remember every. little. thing as if it happened only yesterday.
I was barely seventeen, and I once killed a boy with a Fender guitar.
I don't remember if it was a Telecaster or a Stratocaster
But I do remember that it had a heart of chrome and a voice like a horny angel.
I don't remember if it was a Telecaster or a Stratocaster
But I do remember that it wasn't at all easy:
It required the perfect combination of the right power chords
And the precise angle from which to strike...
The guitar bled for about a week afterward
And the blood was sough dark and rich, like wild berries.
The blood of the guitar was Chuck Berry red--
The guitar bled for about a week afterward, but it rung out beautifully
And I was able to play notes that I had never even heard before.
So... I took my guitar, and I smashed it against the wall!
I smashed it against the floor!
I smashed it against the body of a varsity cheerleader!
Smashed it against the hood of a car,
Smashed it against a 1981 Harley Davidson!
The Harley howled in pain, the guitar howled in heat--
And I... ran up the stairs to my parents' bedroom.
(Mummy and Daddy were sleeping in the moonlight.)
Slowly I opened the door, creeping in the shadows
Right up to the foot of their bed....
I raised the guitar high above my head
And just as I was about to bring the guitar crashing down
upon the center of the bed, my father woke up, screaming "Stop!"
"Wait a minute! Stop it, boy! What do you think you're doing?
That's no way to treat an expensive musical instrument!"
And I said, "Goddammit, Daddy!
You know I love you... But you've got a HELL of a lot to learn about rock 'n roll!"
...That probably makes no sense to anyone not used to how my world works. Just go with it.
I remember everything!
I remember every. little. thing as if it happened only yesterday.
I was barely seventeen, and I once killed a boy with a Fender guitar.
I don't remember if it was a Telecaster or a Stratocaster
But I do remember that it had a heart of chrome and a voice like a horny angel.
I don't remember if it was a Telecaster or a Stratocaster
But I do remember that it wasn't at all easy:
It required the perfect combination of the right power chords
And the precise angle from which to strike...
The guitar bled for about a week afterward
And the blood was sough dark and rich, like wild berries.
The blood of the guitar was Chuck Berry red--
The guitar bled for about a week afterward, but it rung out beautifully
And I was able to play notes that I had never even heard before.
So... I took my guitar, and I smashed it against the wall!
I smashed it against the floor!
I smashed it against the body of a varsity cheerleader!
Smashed it against the hood of a car,
Smashed it against a 1981 Harley Davidson!
The Harley howled in pain, the guitar howled in heat--
And I... ran up the stairs to my parents' bedroom.
(Mummy and Daddy were sleeping in the moonlight.)
Slowly I opened the door, creeping in the shadows
Right up to the foot of their bed....
I raised the guitar high above my head
And just as I was about to bring the guitar crashing down
upon the center of the bed, my father woke up, screaming "Stop!"
"Wait a minute! Stop it, boy! What do you think you're doing?
That's no way to treat an expensive musical instrument!"
And I said, "Goddammit, Daddy!
You know I love you... But you've got a HELL of a lot to learn about rock 'n roll!"