Текст песни W.a.s.p. - Narration, слова песни W.a.s.p.

Текст песни W.a.s.p. - Narration

W.a.s.p. - Narration слова песни

I was born Jonathon Aaron Steel, to the parents of William and Elizabethsteel. I am a Leo, born under the sign of the lion and I was raised in alower middle class family with only one brother Michael whom I lovedearly. He was five years my senior. My father`s nickname was Red which Icould never understand why because his hair was sandy blond. Nevertheless,the name stuck. So when my brother was born my father became Big Red andmy brother Little Red. I should have known from the first time when Irealised their special connection, that I just didn`t fit in to myfather`s plans. And as I grew older the constant comparison between mybrother and myself left little doubt who was the image of perfection in myfather`s eye. To him, my brother could do no wrong and I became TheInvisible Boy, the proverbial `black sheep` and I soon figured out thatred and black don`t mix. The beatings I received became more and morefrequent to the point where I would ask my father "Am I the orphaned sonyou would never need"? But oddly enough I worshipped the ground my fatherwalked upon.My brother and I were a strange mixture, as different as daylight anddark. Looking back, it`s hard to imagine we came from the same parents. Isometimes wondered if we had the same father, but I always dismissed thatidea as my mother was far too religious, my father as well, to ever eventhink of such a thing. But my brother who had always sensed my parent`sinstilled insecurities tried his best to encourage me. For I was borndifferent and he knew it. He often told me when I was born an angel flewover my bed and christened me with a magic wand and said "You shall be theone". And I had no idea what `The one` was, but as I grew older I began tounderstand. Most boys put their mother on a pedestal and worship them likethe Virgin Mary but with her too my relationship was different and not forthe good. She was opinionated, uneducated, sometimes prejudiced,overbearing, believed everything she read, true or not, and when it cameto religion was over-zealous to say the least. A mind boggling combinationbut she was pretty, very pretty and I would often wonder, bordering oncomplete confusion, how a person of this description could rationalise life.This was a series of characteristics that many times in my life I wouldlook back on in bewilderment and the women I sought after when I was olderwould be nothing like her. In the pain of youth, the misery of my neglect,would manifest itself in many ways; depression - my enemy, fear - myfriend, hatred - my lover, and anger - fuel for my fire. These fourcharacteristics of my personality would become the guiding force of mylife and would control everything I did or was to become. I shall explainlater in the story about them which I call my Four Doors of Doom.The mirror, the great plaything for man`s vanity. The mirror was tobecome, at times, my altar of refuge and other, my alter ego and itsmagnificent obsession with a relentless pursuit of attention. It served asa chilling reflection of my own wretchedness and my greatness. It was theone place I could go to see inside myself, to find love, in an otherwiseloveless household where I could be great, where I could be anything oranyone I wanted to be - one hundred percent pure escapism until Idiscovered its precious secret. The mirror lives, it breathes, it talks,it lies, it has a personality all its own. It is a genie that grants allthe wishes you could ever dream, at least in my case - all except two.It was my 14th birthday, the day that changed my life forever. My brotherMichael, the one person who was my guiding light, my friend, my hero, waskilled by a drunk driver in a head-on collision. He died instantly. Icouldn`t even bring myself to go to his funeral. My agony was so great Ijust couldn`t come face to face with him that one last time. My failure toattend intensified my parents` resentment for me even more. But from thatmoment on, nothing seemed to matter, especially that living hell called`home`. For one year after his death I roamed the streets in a fog barelyconscious of anything or anyone. I discovered alcohol, and girls, drugsand in general a life I had never known which was exciting, frighteningand wonderfully dangerous. And it was then as I staggered through a downtown city street in one of my drunken rages I stumbled across a smallmusic shop and in the window stood the instrument, the fiery tool thatwould become the object of my new found desire. The instrument of mypassion, my obsession, the blood-red six string. It was like I`d knownthe thing all my life.I soon found it was the only way I could truly express myself. It was away to vent all my frustrations and all my pain - completely opened all myFour Doors Of Doom and I found myself going to the mirror for counsel lessand less. Because of this my songs seemed to write themselves and I knewmy destiny was in my music but I was going to have to get out of thisbackwards town I was in if I was ever going to succeed. I was 16 goingnowhere and the only thing my parents knew was `live, work, die. ` And if Istayed there that was exactly what was going to happen to me - I was gonnadie. So I ran away to the big city with the lights, excitement and dangerand a chance for me to finally live and do my music without thepersecution I had known for so long. I hitchhiked all the way with asuitcase in one hand and my guitar in the other and as I stood at the edgeof the city the magic of the place was incredibly intense. It was to be mynew home the place I would call the `Arena Of Pleasure`. I lived andstruggled in the arena for two years trying to get a break in music andmake a record and that`s when I ran across a delightful business man namedCharlie. He had been a lawyer for 25 years before he discovered he couldfuck over more people in the recording industry then he ever could in acourt of law and he was the president of one of the biggest recordcompanies in the world. The music business to Charlie was nothing morethan a sacrificial lamb to be led to slaughter and the weapon of choicewas his record company that he`d wield like a mighty sword. The great toolhe would lovingly refer to as `The Chainsaw`. The morgue, Charlie said,was the music business where everyone sells out. Where all the artistswill eventually whore themselves to commercialism, the place where themusic comes to die. And through him I learned everything I needed to knowabout the music business and even things I didn`t want to know. He said hecould make me a star, one of the biggest things the world had ever seen.The big time was calling and I was on my way. He introduced me to anaspiring young manager named Alex Rodman and together we took on the wholefucking world and kicked it square in the ass.Just before the release of my first album I was sitting on the steps infront of my apartment when a gypsy woman passed by. She stopped and askedme if I would like my fortune read and I had never had it done so I wasmore than happy to say yes. She revealed a deck of Tarot cards and beganto tell me of my past in which she went into great detail about the painof my youth, my brother and my parents. She saw my present with my greatstruggle to succeed and fulfillment of my dreams and new found happinessbut after about ten minutes she stopped and I wanted to know of my futureand pleaded for her to go on and finally she spoke. She showed me a verydisturbing vision of where I was going. I told her that I wanted aphenomenal wealth and fame and in the cards she saw a fallen hero andlooked at me and said "Be careful what you wish for - it might come true,for the face of death wears the mask of the King of Mercy". I asked her ifshe was sure of what she had seen and with a blank stare she turned andwalked away leaving me with the cards and a haunting that would follow methe rest of my life.Success agreed with me with amazing ease. The more records I sold the moreexcess I had of everything - friends, money, women, cars, houses. It wasat one of my nightly hedonisms where a flash individual entered the room.He introduced himself as the Doctor. I asked him what kind of doctor andhe smiled and said, "meet my friend Uncle Sam". The mirror that was onceon the wall, my alter ego, was now talking to me from the table and thenext three years were a blur. Drugs became the new candy and alcoholbecame the new Coca Cola and Doctor Rockter was my new best friend and Inever heard the mirror speak again until tonight.I was at the peak of my career and the world saw me as I had always wantedit, The Idol, the Great Crimson Idol. Now I had everything it seemed,everything but the one thing that would have meant more to me thananything. The pain that manifested itself into my obsession, theacceptance of me by my father and mother, who I had not spoken to sinceI had left home.One morning my manager Alex came in and broke up one of our nightly EasyRider Parties. An Easy Rider Party was when everybody would come over tomy house, the band, the doctor, hot and cold running women etc. And we`dwatch the movie and do everything going on the film only a lot more. Andhe threatened to leave me if I didn`t clean up. It was not that he caredabout me as a person he was only interested in my talent and what I coulddo to further his own career as a true showbiz mogul. But it was then Irealised just how far things had gone. So I sat there alone in my palaceof pain and I was just numb from the alcohol and the drugs but equally asintoxicated by my own fame and I had just enough courage to pick up thephone and dial the number. My mind went into a whirlwind thinking of whatwould happen and the fear overcame me and I started to put down the phonebut before I could a voice at the other end rang out and it sent a chillthrough me that I had never known. It was my mother. It was hard for me tospeak, my heart pounding out of my chest but when I did I did the best Icould. She was very cold. But I knew the shock of suddenly hearing from meafter all these years was overwhelming and I was hoping that all the timethat had passed would heal the deep wounds between my parents and mebut... I desperately wanted them to approve of me, to accept me - it wasall I ever wanted. I hoped my success would finally prove my worthinessand they would welcome the prodigal son home. All I wanted was for them tobe proud of me but less than 50 words were spoken. The last four were "Wehave no son".Some wounds never heal and mine had scarred me for life. A great star fellfrom the sky that night and with its descent left a scorched path in itsway - a great path of self-destruction before burning out. And on thisnight the great finale is finally here. `Be careful what you wish for - itmay come true. ` Long live, long live the King of Mercy.

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W.a.s.p.

Narration

Текст песни W.a.s.p. - Narration

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