prologue
A.P. Fuchs Lyrics

I was born Jonathon Aaron Steel, to the parents of William and Elizabeth steel.
My birth name is Jonathon Aaron Steel and my parents are named William and Elizabeth Steel.

I am a Leo, born under the sign of the lion and I was raised in a lower middle class family with only one brother Michael whom I love dearly.
I was born as a Leo, which is symbolized by a lion, and grew up in a lower middle class family. I have a deep love for my older brother Michael.

He was five years my senior.
Michael is five years older than me.

My father's nickname was Red which I could never understand why because his hair was sandy blond.
My father was called Red, even though his hair was actually sandy blond, and I never understood the reason behind it.

Nevertheless, the name stuck.
Regardless of the reason, the nickname Red stuck with my father.

So when my brother was born my father became Big Red and my brother Little Red.
When my brother was born, my father's nickname changed to Big Red, and my brother was called Little Red.

I should have known from the first time when I realised their special connection, that I just didn't fit in to my father's plans.
I should have realized early on, when I saw the special connection between my father and brother, that I didn't fit into my father's expectations.

And as I grew older the constant comparison between my brother and myself left little doubt who was the image of perfection in my father's eye.
As I grew older, the continuous comparison between my brother and myself made it clear that my father saw him as the perfect one.

To him, my brother could do no wrong and I became The Invisible Boy, the proverbial 'black sheep' and I soon figured out that red and black don't mix.
In my father's eyes, my brother was always right, while I felt invisible and like an outcast. I realized that being different from my brother, represented by red, created a conflict.

The beatings I received became more and more frequent to the point where I would ask my father 'Am I the orphaned son you would never need'?
The physical abuse I experienced from my father increased over time, leading me to question if I was an unwanted son, like an orphan.

But oddly enough I worshipped the ground my father walked upon.
Despite the abuse, I still held deep admiration for my father.

My brother and I were a strange mixture, as different as daylight and dark.
My brother and I were complete opposites, as different as day and night.

Looking back, it's hard to imagine we came from the same parents.
In hindsight, it's difficult to believe that we have the same parents given our vast differences.

I sometimes wondered if we had the same father, but I always dismissed that idea as my mother was far too religious, my father as well, to ever even think of such a thing.
At times, I questioned if my brother and I shared the same father, but I quickly dismissed the thought due to my deeply religious parents.

But my brother who had always sensed my parent's instilled insecurities tried his best to encourage me.
Despite the differences, my brother, who could detect our parents' insecurities, did his best to support and motivate me.

For I was born different and he knew it.
My brother recognized from the start that I was unique and different from the rest.

He often told me when I was born an angel flew over my bed and christened me with a magic wand and said 'You shall be the one'.
According to my brother, when I was born, an angel blessed me with a magical wand and proclaimed that I would be someone extraordinary.

And I had no idea what 'The one' was, but as I grew older I began to understand.
Although I didn't comprehend the meaning of being 'the one' at the time, as I got older, its significance started to become clear.

Most boys put their mother on a pedestal and worship them like the Virgin Mary but with her too my relationship was different and not for the good.
Typically, boys admire and idolize their mothers, but my relationship with my mother was complicated and not entirely positive.

She was opinionated, uneducated, sometimes prejudiced, overbearing, believed everything she read, true or not, and when it came to religion was over-zealous to say the least.
My mother had strong opinions, lacked education, held prejudices, and was overbearing. Additionally, she believed everything she read, regardless of its accuracy, and was excessively zealous in religious matters.

A mind boggling combination but she was pretty, very pretty and I would often wonder, bordering on complete confusion, how a person of this description could rationalise life.
Her contradictory attributes perplexed me, but I couldn't help but notice her physical beauty. I often found myself bewildered, questioning how someone with such qualities could make sense of life.

This was a series of characteristics that many times in my life I would look back on in bewilderment and the women I sought after when I was older would be nothing like her.
Throughout my life, I often reflected on these contrasting traits with bewilderment. As I grew older, I realized that the women I pursued would be completely different from her.

In the pain of youth, the misery of my neglect, would manifest itself in many ways; depression - my enemy, fear - my friend, hatred - my lover, and anger - fuel for my fire.
The pain I experienced during my youth, coupled with the neglect I endured, manifested in various forms: depression became my enemy, fear my companion, hatred my lover, and anger the driving force behind my actions.

These four characteristics of my personality would become the guiding force of my life and would control everything I did or was to become.
These four traits of my character would shape and define the course of my life, influencing all my actions and decisions.

I shall explain later in the story about them which I call my Four Doors of Doom.
Later in the story, I will delve deeper into these traits and refer to them as my Four Doors of Doom.

The mirror, the great plaything for man's vanity.
The mirror, a significant tool for showcasing human vanity.

The mirror was to become, at times, my altar of refuge and other, my alter ego and its magnificent obsession with a relentless pursuit of attention.
The mirror served as both a sanctuary from the outside world and a reflection of my alter ego. It fueled an intense obsession for seeking attention.

It served as a chilling reflection of my own wretchedness and my greatness.
The mirror provided a haunting reflection of both my flaws and my unique abilities.

It was the one place I could go to see inside myself, to find love, in an otherwise loveless household where I could be great, where I could be anything or anyone I wanted to be - one hundred percent pure escapism until I discovered its precious secret.
The mirror offered a refuge where I could explore myself and experience love in a household deprived of it. It allowed me to envision greatness and become whoever I desired, providing a pure form of escapism. However, my perception of the mirror transformed when I uncovered its hidden truth.

The mirror lives, it breathes, it talks, it lies, it has a personality all its own.
The mirror possesses life, breathes, speaks, deceives, and possesses a unique personality.

It is a genie that grants all the wishes you could ever dream, at least in my case - all except two.
The mirror behaves like a magical genie, granting all my desires and dreams, with only two exceptions.

It was my 14th birthday, the day that changed my life forever.
On my 14th birthday, my life took an irreversible turn.

My brother Michael, the one person who was my guiding light, my friend, my hero, was killed by a drunk driver in a head-on collision.
Tragically, my older brother Michael, who served as my guiding light, friend, and hero, lost his life in a head-on collision caused by a drunk driver.

He died instantly.
My brother's death was instantaneous.

I couldn't even bring myself to go to his funeral.
The pain was too overwhelming, preventing me from attending his funeral.

My agony was so great I just couldn't come face to face with him that one last time.
The immense agony I felt made it unbearable to confront him for the last time.

My failure to attend intensified my parents' resentment for me even more.
My absence at the funeral only deepened my parents' already existing bitterness towards me.

But from that moment on, nothing seemed to matter, especially that living hell called 'home'.
After that moment, everything lost significance, particularly the miserable environment I called 'home'.

For one year after his death I roamed the streets in a fog barely conscious of anything or anyone.
For an entire year following his death, I aimlessly wandered the streets, lost and detached from my surroundings.

I discovered alcohol, and girls, drugs and in general a life I had never known which was exciting, frightening and wonderfully dangerous.
During my time of aimlessness, I embraced a lifestyle filled with alcohol, women, drugs, and thrilling yet perilous experiences, all of which were foreign to me.

And it was then as I staggered through a down town city street in one of my drunken rages I stumbled across a small music shop and in the window stood the instrument, the fiery tool that would become the object of my new found desire.
It was during one of my drunken fits as I stumbled through the city streets that I chanced upon a small music shop. In the shop window, I saw a captivating instrument, a fiery tool that ignited a newfound passion within me.

The instrument of my passion, my obsession, the blood-red six string.
This instrument became the embodiment of my passion and obsession, symbolized by its blood-red appearance and its six strings.

It was like I'd known the thing all my life.
Seeing that instrument felt as though I had a deep, intrinsic connection with it.

I soon found it was the only way I could truly express myself.
Playing that instrument became the most genuine way for me to convey my inner self.

It was a way to vent all my frustrations and all my pain - completely opened all my Four Doors Of Doom and I found myself going to the mirror for counsel less and less.
Through playing the instrument, I could release all my frustrations and pain, opening my Four Doors of Doom. As a result, I relied less and less on the mirror for guidance.

Because of this, my songs seemed to write themselves and I knew my destiny was in my music but I was going to have to get out of this backwards town I was in if I was ever going to succeed.
As a result, my songs effortlessly flowed from within me, solidifying my belief that my future lay in music. However, I understood that in order to succeed, I had to leave the small, close-minded town I was currently in.

I was 16 going nowhere and the only thing my parents knew was 'live, work, die.'
At the age of 16, I felt directionless, with my parents only advocating for a monotonous existence of 'live, work, die.'

And if I stayed there that was exactly what was going to happen to me - I was gonna die.
If I remained in that town, I would be doomed to the same fate - a figurative death.

So I ran away to the big city with the lights, excitement and danger and a chance for me to finally live and do my music without the persecution I had known for so long.
In pursuit of a chance to truly live and pursue my music without the judgment and mistreatment I had endured, I fled to the bustling city with its vibrant lights, thrilling atmosphere, and inherent risks.

I hitchhiked all the way with a suitcase in one hand and my guitar in the other and as I stood at the edge of the city the magic of the place was incredibly intense.
I traveled to the city by hitchhiking, carrying just a suitcase and my guitar. As I stood at the outskirts of the city, the enchantment and allure were overwhelmingly intense.

It was to be my new home, the place I would call the 'Arena Of Pleasure'.
The city would become my new home, referred to as the 'Arena of Pleasure'.

I lived and struggled in the arena for two years trying to get a break in music and make a record and that's when I ran across a delightful business man named Charlie.
Within the city's realm, I endured both hardships and perseverance for two years, striving to secure an opportunity in the music industry and produce a record. It was during this time that I encountered a charismatic businessman named Charlie.

He had been a lawyer for 25 years before he discovered he could fuck over more people in the recording industry then he ever could in a court of law and he was the president of one of the biggest record companies in the world.
Charlie, previously a lawyer for 25 years, realized he could exert more control and manipulation within the music industry compared to the constraints of a courtroom. As the president of a prominent record company, he held significant power.

The music business to Charlie was nothing more than a sacrificial lamb to be led to slaughter and the weapon of choice was his record company that he'd wield like a mighty sword.
Charlie viewed the music business as a sacrificial entity, destined to be exploited. His record company served as the formidable weapon that he brandished with authority.

The great tool he would lovingly refer to as 'The Chainsaw'.
Amidst his manipulation, Charlie affectionately referred to his record company as 'The Chainsaw'.

The morgue, Charlie said, was the music business where everyone sells out.
According to Charlie, the music industry was comparable to a morgue, signifying how artists compromise their integrity in pursuit of success.

Where all the artists will eventually whore themselves to commercialism, the place where the music comes to die.
Within the music industry, artists inevitably sell out to commercialism, resulting in the demise of authentic music.

And through him I learned everything I needed to know about the music business and even things I didn't want to know.
Charlie became my guide, teaching me everything I needed to navigate the music industry, even revealing aspects I was reluctant to acknowledge.

He said he could make me a star, one of the biggest things the world had ever seen.
Charlie assured me that he could catapult me to stardom, making me one of the colossal figures the world had ever witnessed.

The big time was calling and I was on my way.
Opportunity for tremendous success beckoned, and I was well on my way to seizing it.

He introduced me to an aspiring young manager named Alex Rodman and together we took on the whole fucking world and kicked it square in the ass.
Charlie introduced me to a promising young manager named Alex Rodman, and with our combined determination, we confronted and triumphed over the challenges the world threw at us.

Just before the release of my first album I was sitting on the steps in front of my apartment when a gypsy woman passed by.
Shortly before my debut album was set to release, I found myself sitting on the steps of my apartment as a gypsy woman happened to pass by.

She stopped and asked me if I would like my fortune read and I had never had it done so I was more than happy to say yes.
The gypsy woman paused and offered to read my fortune. Curiosity piqued, I eagerly accepted the opportunity, as I had never experienced it before.

She revealed a deck of Tarot cards and began to tell me of my past in which she went into great detail about the pain of my youth, my brother and my parents.
Utilizing a deck of Tarot cards, the gypsy woman delved into my past, providing intricate descriptions of the anguish I endured during my youth, as well as the dynamics between my brother and parents.

She saw my present with my great struggle to succeed and fulfillment of my dreams and new found happiness.
The gypsy woman recognized my current state, acknowledging the immense effort I exerted to achieve success, fulfill my dreams, and experience newfound happiness.

But after about ten minutes she stopped and I wanted to know of my future and pleaded for her to go on.
After approximately ten minutes, the gypsy woman abruptly ceased and I desperately yearned to know what the future held. I begged her to continue.

And finally she spoke.
Eventually, she resumed speaking.

She showed me a very disturbing vision of where I was going.
She presented a profoundly unsettling vision of my future.

I told her that I wanted a phenomenal wealth and fame and in the cards she saw a fallen hero and looked at me and said 'Be careful what you wish for - it might come true, for the face of death wears the mask of the King of Mercy'.
Conveying my desire for immense wealth and fame, the gypsy woman interpreted the cards as portraying a hero who would ultimately fall from grace. She warned me to exercise caution with my wishes as they could potentially become a reality, for even death hides behind a cloak of mercy.

I asked her if she was sure of what she had seen and with a blank stare she turned and
Seeking reassurance, I questioned the accuracy of her vision. In response, she simply gazed at me with an empty expression, then abruptly turned away.