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 "Our hours in love have wings; in absence crutches."
                                                    Colley Cibber


 Some years ago I got across the below text on a tape sent to  me
by, I think, er, a friend of mine. And only recently I got across
it again,  on Meat Loaf's "Bat out of Hell II - Back Into  Hell".
It's the spoken part of a song called "Wasted Youth",  and if you
read  it out loud and with a lot of heavy emotion it  will  sound
close to what it does on the CD.

      "Wasted Youth" / "Love, Death and an American Guitar"
                (I think this is by Jim Steinman)

                     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 right power chords
           and the precise angle from which to strike
           The guitar bled for about a week afterwards
  and the blood was sweet, dark and rich, like wild berries...
         The blood of the guitar was
           The guitar bled for about a week afterwards
                 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!
            Smashed it against the the hood of a car!
           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
       Mummy and daddy were sleeping in the moonglight...
                    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!"
                             I said,
           "God damn it daddy! You know I love you...
  but you've got a hell of a lot to learn about rock and roll!"

The text of the articles is identical to the originals like they appeared in old ST NEWS issues. Please take into consideration that the author(s) was (were) a lot younger and less responsible back then. So bad jokes, bad English, youthful arrogance, insults, bravura, over-crediting and tastelessness should be taken with at least a grain of salt. Any contact and/or payment information, as well as deadlines/release dates of any kind should be regarded as outdated. Due to the fact that these pages are not actually contained in an Atari executable here, references to scroll texts, featured demo screens and hidden articles may also be irrelevant.