The "Freeola Customer Forum" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
These black-gloved hands, so divine, imbued with the blessed touch of a god.
I remember that crowded underground station.
She was there. I was there. It was perfect.
As the train approached, I sensed the heat of her young body beckoning me.
I barely touched her, but she stumbled, and she fell, onto the hard rails.
As the bluster of the train roared by sounding its deafening horn, shivers ran down my spine and tears welled in my excited eyes.
She was my first, that pretty and delicate girl, but she wasn't my last.
I remember a man standing close to the edge of a cliff. He was looking out to sea.
How could I resist.
I approached him. I even said hello. Then I gave him a good shove.
The look on his face as he began his tumbling descent was a sight to behold.
These black-gloved hands, so divine, imbued with the blessed touch of a terrible god.
He was my second, that stranger by the sea, but he wasn't my last.
There was a wheelchair-bound woman who I sent careering off the end of a bridge.
There was a doddering old gaffer who I sent rolling down a deep ravine.
There was a fisherman who I propelled into a fast-flowing river.
They'll never catch me. It is destiny that my fingertips send those chosen to a better place.
And there'll be more.
Just a push is all it takes. Who would've thought it could be so simple, so pure. Just a little push.
These black-gloved hands, so sublime, blessed with the touch of a man become god.
I remember that crowded underground station.
She was there. I was there. It was perfect.
As the train approached, I sensed the heat of her young body beckoning me.
I barely touched her, but she stumbled, and she fell, onto the hard rails.
As the bluster of the train roared by sounding its deafening horn, shivers ran down my spine and tears welled in my excited eyes.
She was my first, that pretty and delicate girl, but she wasn't my last.
I remember a man standing close to the edge of a cliff. He was looking out to sea.
How could I resist.
I approached him. I even said hello. Then I gave him a good shove.
The look on his face as he began his tumbling descent was a sight to behold.
These black-gloved hands, so divine, imbued with the blessed touch of a terrible god.
He was my second, that stranger by the sea, but he wasn't my last.
There was a wheelchair-bound woman who I sent careering off the end of a bridge.
There was a doddering old gaffer who I sent rolling down a deep ravine.
There was a fisherman who I propelled into a fast-flowing river.
They'll never catch me. It is destiny that my fingertips send those chosen to a better place.
And there'll be more.
Just a push is all it takes. Who would've thought it could be so simple, so pure. Just a little push.
These black-gloved hands, so sublime, blessed with the touch of a man become god.
Page:
Nice.
These black-gloved hands, so divine, imbued with the blessed touch of a god.
I remember that crowded underground station.
She was there. I was there. It was perfect.
As the train approached, I sensed the heat of her young body beckoning me.
I barely touched her, but she stumbled, and she fell, onto the hard rails.
As the bluster of the train roared by sounding its deafening horn, shivers ran down my spine and tears welled in my excited eyes.
She was my first, that pretty and delicate girl, but she wasn't my last.
I remember a man standing close to the edge of a cliff. He was looking out to sea.
How could I resist.
I approached him. I even said hello. Then I gave him a good shove.
The look on his face as he began his tumbling descent was a sight to behold.
These black-gloved hands, so divine, imbued with the blessed touch of a terrible god.
He was my second, that stranger by the sea, but he wasn't my last.
There was a wheelchair-bound woman who I sent careering off the end of a bridge.
There was a doddering old gaffer who I sent rolling down a deep ravine.
There was a fisherman who I propelled into a fast-flowing river.
They'll never catch me. It is destiny that my fingertips send those chosen to a better place.
And there'll be more.
Just a push is all it takes. Who would've thought it could be so simple, so pure. Just a little push.
These black-gloved hands, so sublime, blessed with the touch of a man become god.
I remember that crowded underground station.
She was there. I was there. It was perfect.
As the train approached, I sensed the heat of her young body beckoning me.
I barely touched her, but she stumbled, and she fell, onto the hard rails.
As the bluster of the train roared by sounding its deafening horn, shivers ran down my spine and tears welled in my excited eyes.
She was my first, that pretty and delicate girl, but she wasn't my last.
I remember a man standing close to the edge of a cliff. He was looking out to sea.
How could I resist.
I approached him. I even said hello. Then I gave him a good shove.
The look on his face as he began his tumbling descent was a sight to behold.
These black-gloved hands, so divine, imbued with the blessed touch of a terrible god.
He was my second, that stranger by the sea, but he wasn't my last.
There was a wheelchair-bound woman who I sent careering off the end of a bridge.
There was a doddering old gaffer who I sent rolling down a deep ravine.
There was a fisherman who I propelled into a fast-flowing river.
They'll never catch me. It is destiny that my fingertips send those chosen to a better place.
And there'll be more.
Just a push is all it takes. Who would've thought it could be so simple, so pure. Just a little push.
These black-gloved hands, so sublime, blessed with the touch of a man become god.
Page: