to the "Wasted
Youth/Love and Death of an American Guitar"
narration by Jim Steinman
I remember everything! I remember every little thing as if it
happened only yesterday. I was barely
sixteen, and I once loved a girl with all my heart. I cant remember all of the hugs and kisses, but I do remember
singing each other to sleep, and she had a voice like a holy angel. I can’t remember all of the hugs and kisses,
but I do remember she was so easy to love.
She wanted a smile and asked for a phone call before bedtime each and
every night.
My heart bled for months afterward,
and the blood was dark and rich, a crimson red. The blood of my heart was the crimson red of youth! My heart bled for months afterward yet it
still beat mercilessly, and I was able to feel pain unlike any I had ever felt
before. So she took my heart, and she
smashed it against the floor. She
smashed it against the wall. She ground
it beneath her heel like some varsity cheerleader. She smashed it against the hood of his new car. She smashed it with a New Revised Version
Holy Bible. My heart howled in
pain; the Bible howled in hate. And I
took my bleeding, broken heart, and I ran down the street to my Father’s house. The altar sat quietly in the moonlight. Slowly I walked down the aisle between the
pews, creeping in the shadows right up to the table that was the altar, raised
my heart high above my head, and just as I was about to bring my heart crashing
down onto the center of the altar, my Father called out, screaming
"STOP! Waitaminute!! Stop it, Boy! What do ya’ think ya’ doin’? That’s no way to treat a beautiful
precious gift!" And I said,
"Thanks for the gift, Daddy. I know
You love me. But You’ve got a helluvalot
to learn about making sense!"