Luyện nghe bài hát Narration

I was born Jonathon Steel, to the parents of William and Elizabeth
steel. I am a Leo, born under the sign of the and I was raised in a
lower middle class family with only one Michael whom I love
dearly. He was five years my senior. My father's nickname was Red I
could understand why because his hair was sandy blond. Nevertheless,
the name stuck. So when my brother was born my became Big Red and
my brother Little Red. I should known from the first time when I
their special connection, that I just didn't fit in to my
father's plans. And as I grew older the constant between my
brother and myself left little doubt who was the of perfection in my
father's eye. To him, my brother do no wrong and I became The
Invisible Boy, the proverbial 'black sheep' and I soon out that
red and black mix. The beatings I received became more and more
frequent to the point I would ask my father "Am I the orphaned son
you would never need"? But oddly enough I worshipped the my father
upon.

My and I were a strange mixture, as different as daylight and
dark. Looking back, it's hard to imagine we from the same parents. I
sometimes wondered if we had the same father, but I always dismissed
idea as my was far too religious, my father as well, to ever even
think of such a thing. But my brother who had always sensed my
instilled insecurities his best to encourage me. For I was born
different and he knew it. He often told me when I was born an angel
over my bed and me with a magic wand and said "You shall be the
one". And I had no idea what 'The one' was, but as I grew I began to
understand. boys put their mother on a pedestal and worship them like
the Virgin but with her too my relationship was different and not for
the good. She was opinionated, uneducated, prejudiced,
overbearing, everything she read, true or not, and when it came
to religion was to say the least. A mind boggling combination
but she was pretty, very pretty and I often wonder, bordering on
complete confusion, how a person of description could rationalise life.

This was a series of characteristics that times in my life I would
look on in bewilderment and the women I sought after when I was older
would be nothing her. In the pain of youth, the misery of my neglect,
would itself in many ways; depression - my enemy, fear - my
friend, hatred - my lover, and anger - fuel for my fire. These
of my personality would become the guiding force of my
life and would control everything I did or was to become. I shall
later in the story about them which I call my Four of Doom.

The mirror, the plaything for man's vanity. The mirror was to
become, at times, my altar of refuge and other, my ego and its
magnificent obsession with a relentless of attention. It served as
a chilling reflection of my own and my greatness. It was the
one place I go to see inside myself, to find love, in an otherwise
household where I could be great, where I could be anything or
anyone I wanted to be - one percent pure escapism until I
its precious secret. The mirror lives, it breathes, it talks,
it lies, it has a personality all its own. It is a genie that all
the wishes you could ever dream, at least in my case - all two.

It was my 14th birthday, the day that my life forever. My brother
Michael, the one who was my guiding light, my friend, my hero, was
killed by a driver in a head-on collision. He died instantly. I
couldn't even myself to go to his funeral. My agony was so great I
just couldn't come face to face him that one last time. My failure to
attend my parents' resentment for me even more. But from that
moment on, nothing seemed to matter, especially that hell called
'home'. For one after his death I roamed the streets in a fog barely
conscious of anything or anyone. I alcohol, and girls, drugs
and in general a life I had never known was exciting, frightening
and wonderfully dangerous. And it was then as I staggered through a
town city street in one of my drunken rages I stumbled a small
music shop and in the window stood the instrument, the fiery that
would become the object of my new found desire. The of my
passion, my obsession, the blood-red six string. It was like I'd
the all my life.

I soon found it was the only way I could truly myself. It was a
way to vent all my frustrations and all my pain - completely all my
Four Of Doom and I found myself going to the mirror for counsel less
and less. Because of my songs seemed to write themselves and I knew
my destiny was in my music but I was to have to get out of this
town I was in if I was ever going to succeed. I was 16 going
nowhere and the only thing my knew was 'live, work, die. ' And if I
stayed there that was exactly what was to happen to me - I was gonna
die. So I ran away to the big city the lights, excitement and danger
and a chance for me to finally live and do my without the
I had known for so long. I hitchhiked all the way with a
suitcase in one hand and my guitar in the and as I stood at the edge
of the city the magic of the was incredibly intense. It was to be my
new the place I would call the 'Arena Of Pleasure'. I lived and
struggled in the arena for two years to get a break in music and
make a record and that's I ran across a delightful business man named
Charlie. He had been a lawyer for 25 years before he he could
fuck over more in the recording industry then he ever could in a
court of law and he was the of one of the biggest record
companies in the world. The business to Charlie was nothing more
a sacrificial lamb to be led to slaughter and the weapon of choice
was his record company that he'd like a mighty sword. The great tool
he would lovingly refer to as Chainsaw'. The morgue, Charlie said,
was the music business where everyone out. Where all the artists
will eventually whore to commercialism, the place where the
music comes to die. And through him I learned everything I needed to
about the music business and even things I didn't to know. He said he
could make me a star, one of the biggest the world had ever seen.
The big time was and I was on my way. He introduced me to an
aspiring manager named Alex Rodman and together we took on the whole
fucking world and kicked it in the ass.

Just before the release of my album I was sitting on the steps in
front of my apartment when a gypsy woman passed by. She stopped and
me if I would like my fortune and I had never had it done so I was
than happy to say yes. She revealed a deck of Tarot cards and began
to tell me of my in which she went into great detail about the pain
of my youth, my brother and my parents. She saw my present my great
struggle to succeed and fulfillment of my dreams and new found
but after ten minutes she stopped and I wanted to know of my future
and pleaded for her to go on and finally she spoke. She showed me a
disturbing vision of I was going. I told her that I wanted a
wealth and fame and in the cards she saw a fallen hero and
looked at me and said "Be careful you wish for - it might come true,
for the of death wears the mask of the King of Mercy". I asked her if
she was sure of what she had seen and a blank stare she turned and
away leaving me with the cards and a haunting that would follow me
the of my life.

Success agreed with me with amazing ease. The more I sold the more
I had of everything - friends, money, women, cars, houses. It was
at one of my nightly where a flash individual entered the room.
He introduced as the Doctor. I asked him what kind of doctor and
he and said, "meet my friend Uncle Sam". The mirror that was once
on the wall, my alter ego, was now talking to me from the and the
next three years were a blur. Drugs the new candy and alcohol
became the new Coca Cola and Doctor Rockter was my new best and I
never heard the mirror again until tonight.

I was at the of my career and the world saw me as I had always wanted
it, The Idol, the Great Idol. Now I had everything it seemed,
everything but the one thing would have meant more to me than
anything. The pain that itself into my obsession, the
of me by my father and mother, who I had not spoken to since
I had home.

One morning my Alex came in and broke up one of our nightly Easy
Rider Parties. An Easy Rider Party was when everybody come over to
my house, the band, the doctor, hot and cold running etc. And we'd
watch the and do everything going on the film only a lot more. And
he threatened to leave me if I didn't clean up. It was not he cared
about me as a person he was only interested in my and what I could
do to further his own career as a true showbiz mogul. But it was I
just how far things had gone. So I sat there alone in my palace
of pain and I was just numb from the and the drugs but equally as
intoxicated by my own fame and I had just enough to pick up the
phone and dial the number. My mind went into a whirlwind of what
would and the fear overcame me and I started to put down the phone
but before I could a voice at the other end rang out and it a chill
me that I had never known. It was my mother. It was hard for me to
speak, my heart out of my chest but when I did I did the best I
could. She was very cold. But I the shock of suddenly hearing from me
all these years was overwhelming and I was hoping that all the time
that had passed would heal the deep wounds between my and me
but... I desperately wanted them to of me, to accept me - it was
all I ever wanted. I hoped my success finally prove my worthiness
and they would welcome the prodigal son home. All I wanted was for to
be proud of me but less than 50 words were spoken. The four were "We
no son".

Some never heal and mine had scarred me for life. A great star fell
from the sky that night and with its descent a scorched path in its
way - a great path of self-destruction burning out. And on this
the great finale is finally here. 'Be careful what you wish for - it
may come true. ' Long live, live the King of Mercy.