Refined British
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Sometimes a man grows tired of carrying everything the world heaps upon his head. The show to sag spine BOS Cruelly, the muscles tremble with weariness. Open relief begins to die. The man must decide whether to cast off his load or endure it until his neck snaps like a little twig in autumn. Such was my situation late in my 33rd year, although I deserved everything the world had heaped on, Andi torments after death, far worse than any of the world could threaten the torture of my skeleton, the rape and dismemberment of my immortal soul. Though I deserved all that and more, I found that I could no longer bear the weight. I realised I didn't have to bear it. You see, I came to understand that I had a choice. It must have been difficult for Christ himself to withstand the agonies of the cross, the filth, the thirst, the terrible spikes, raping the jellied flesh of his hands, knowing you had a choice. And I am not Christ, not even by half. My name is Andrew Compton. Between 1977 and 1988 I killed 23 boys and young men in London. I was 17 years old when I began 28 when they caught me all the time I was in prison. I knew that if they ever let me out, I would continue killing boys. But I also knew they would never let me out. My boys and young men were transience in the city, friendless, hungry, drunk and strung out on the excellent Pakistani heroine that is caused through the veins of London since the swinging sixties. I gave them good food, strong tea, a warm place in my bed, what few pleasures my body could provide. In return, all I asked was their lives. Sometimes they appeared to give those as readily as anything else.