[All spoken by Jim Steinman]



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 correct power chords,

and the precise angle from which to strike.

The guitar bled for a week afterward and the blood was - ooh -

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,

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 their bed.

I raised the guitar high above my head,

and just as I was about to bring the guitar crashing down upon the centre 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 "God dammit Daddy! You know I love you,

but you've got a hell of a lot to learn about rock and roll!"