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 of the lion and I was raised in a
lower middle class family with one brother Michael whom I love
dearly. He was years my senior. My father's nickname was Red which I
could never understand why because his hair was blond. Nevertheless,
the name stuck. So my brother was born my father became Big Red and
my brother Red. I should have known from the first time when I
realised special connection, that I just didn't fit in to my
father's plans. And as I grew older the comparison between my
brother and myself left little doubt who was the of perfection in my
father's eye. To him, my could do no wrong and I became The
Invisible Boy, the 'black sheep' and I soon figured out that
red and black don't mix. The beatings I received became and more
frequent to the where I would ask my father "Am I the orphaned son
you never need"? But oddly enough I worshipped the ground my father
upon.

My and I were a strange mixture, as different as daylight and
dark. Looking back, hard to imagine we came from the same parents. I
sometimes wondered if we had the father, but I always dismissed that
idea as my mother was far too religious, my as well, to ever even
think of such a thing. But my brother who had always sensed my
instilled tried his best to encourage me. For I was born
different and he knew it. He often told me I was born an angel flew
over my bed and christened me a magic wand and said "You shall be the
one". And I had no idea what 'The one' was, but as I older I began to
understand. Most boys put their mother on a 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, believed everything she read, true or not, and it came
to religion was over-zealous to say the least. A mind boggling
but she was pretty, very pretty and I often wonder, bordering on
complete confusion, how a person of this description could life.

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

The mirror, the great plaything for man's vanity. The was to
become, at times, my altar of and other, my alter ego and its
magnificent obsession a relentless pursuit of attention. It served as
a chilling reflection of my own and my greatness. It was the
one place I could go to see inside myself, to 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
discovered its precious secret. The lives, it breathes, it talks,
it lies, it has a personality all its own. It is a genie that all
the wishes you could dream, at least in my case - all except two.

It was my 14th birthday, the day that changed my life forever. My
Michael, the one who was my guiding light, my friend, my hero, was
killed by a drunk 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 with him that one last time. My failure to
attend intensified my parents' resentment for me more. But from that
moment on, nothing seemed to matter, especially that living called
'home'. For one after his death I roamed the streets in a fog barely
conscious of anything or anyone. I discovered alcohol, and girls,
and in general a I had never known which was exciting, frightening
and wonderfully dangerous. And it was then as I staggered through a
town city in one of my drunken rages I stumbled across a small
shop and in the window stood the instrument, the fiery tool that
would become the of my new found desire. The instrument of my
passion, my obsession, the six string. It was like I'd known
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 Doors Of Doom and I myself going to the mirror for counsel less
and less. Because of this my songs seemed to write themselves and I
my was in my music but I was going 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 music the
persecution I had known for so long. I hitchhiked all the way 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 home the place I call the 'Arena Of Pleasure'. I lived and
struggled in the arena for two years trying to get a in music and
make a record and that's when I ran across a delightful man named
Charlie. He had been a lawyer for 25 before he discovered he could
fuck over more people in the recording then he ever could in a
court of law and he was the president of one of the record
companies in the world. The business to Charlie was nothing more
than a sacrificial to be led to slaughter and the weapon of choice
was his record company that wield like a mighty sword. The great tool
he would lovingly refer to as Chainsaw'. The morgue, Charlie said,
was the business where everyone sells out. Where all the artists
will eventually whore themselves to commercialism, the where the
music comes to die. And through him I everything I needed to know
about the music business and even things I didn't want to know. He he
could make me a star, one of the biggest the world had ever seen.
The big was calling and I was on my way. He introduced me to an
aspiring young named Alex Rodman and together we took on the whole
fucking world and it square in the ass.

Just before the of my first 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 read and I had never had it done so I was
more happy to say yes. She revealed a deck of Tarot cards and began
to me of my past in which she went into great detail about the pain
of my youth, my brother and my parents. She saw my present with my
struggle to succeed and fulfillment of my and new found happiness
but about ten minutes she stopped and I wanted to know of my future
and for her to go on and finally she spoke. She showed me a very
disturbing vision of where I was going. I her that I wanted a
phenomenal wealth and 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 face of death wears the mask of the King of Mercy". I her if
she was sure of what she had seen and with a blank she turned and
walked away leaving me with the cards and a haunting that would me
the of my life.

Success agreed me with amazing ease. The more records 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 smiled and said, "meet my friend Uncle Sam". The mirror that was
on the wall, my alter ego, was now to me from the table and the
three years were a blur. Drugs became the new candy and alcohol
became the new Coca and Doctor Rockter was my new best friend and I
never heard the speak again until tonight.

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

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

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