I remember every little thing as if it happened only yesterday.

I was barely 17 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 powerchords and the precise angle from which to strike.

The guitar bled for about a week afterwards and the blood was soothing, dark, and rich like wild berries.

The blood of the guitar was Chuck Berry red!

The guitar bled for about a week afterwards and 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!

I smashed it against the hood of a car!

I 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. Mommy and Daddy were sleeping in the moonlight.

Slowly I opened the door creeping in the shadows right up to the foot of the bed.

I raised my 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 AND ROLL!!"

(As written and recorded by Jim Steinman)

Post edited at 4:35 pm on July 5, 2009 by RayOrama

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Long Live Rock! Be It Dead Or Alive!