Meat Loaf Wasted Youth

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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!'.