Monday, 15 April 2013

Hillsborough: a true story ©

FA cup agony in 88, beaten on the day
Beaten by underdogs on the 14th of May
But fortunes were back and Wembley in sight
The cup ribbons dancing, in red and in white

It was fifteenth of April, the year 1989
The spring morning sparkled, not a hint nor a sign
Of the twisting and darkening map of their fate
The nightmare of Hillsborough, lying in wait

Fans made their way there, however they could
Tickets in hand, Red in their blood
But road works and searches littered the way
And fans in their thousands were mired in delay

The clock hands sped forwards, it was 2 p.m.
Crowd numbers swelling, Police struggled to stem
A red mass of people, a cacophony of sound
Moving as one, as it entered the ground

But ten thousand bodies had nowhere to go
Stuck in a bottleneck, seized in the flow
A tidal wave of red, the lust of the game
Desperately surging, then handed the blame

But falsehoods obscured the truth of neglect
The Police failed those they were there to protect
Men, women, children, hooligans to them
The youngest to pay, a boy of just ten

Survivors have spoken, down through the years
Of lives destroyed, grown men in tears
And the years may pass but the memories remain
Of the horror that day in Leppings Lane

Panic and crush and unspeakable terror
Hysterical frenzy and rising pressure
Thousands struggling, fighting to survive
As 96 lost and paid with their lives

Hundreds more were wounded in battle
Trapped in the pens and treated like cattle
And the match was stopped at six minutes past three
As the fans in their prison finally broke free

Fans not police were the heroes that day
As they rallied and fought in the midst of the fray
Waiting for help that would never arrive
While battling to keep their families alive

Loved ones back home prayed for relief
While others in Sheffield collapsed in their grief
And a mother is forbidden from touching her son
The decades of cover-up already begun

As the Police were determined to hide from their shame
And the battle-scarred fans were easy to frame
They forced the gates, they were out of control
They were drunk, they were violent, the lies that were told

So with flowers spanning the Anfield pitch
And Red and Blue uniting for the 96
The Sun was poisoning the names of the dead
Twisting the knife in the wounds that bled

Accidental death the authorities claimed
Politicians, police, defiant, unashamed
And though the Taylor Report gave hope to the bereaved
For twenty three years they were never believed

But truth not vengeance was the treasure they sought
And they were mocked and scorned but still they fought
For they would never give up on the souls above
In a tremendous tale of enduring love

And in September last year came a ray of light
Like a beacon of hope that burned in the night
And the dawn is breaking, the agony past
As the truth sweeps away the lies at last

The story of Hillsborough does not end here
As the final verdict is yet unclear
But as long as the flame is burning bright


Dedicated to my Nan Sue who passed away on 8 April 2013 and would never hear a word said against Liverpool, my Grandad who passed away on 5 December 2012 and always supported the fight for justice, and of course the 96. RIP.     
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