What colour is justice?
The blue of the sky,
The green of the grass,
The grey of the concrete,
That housed all of us.
The silver crush barriers,
All mangled and bent,
The bright white of heaven,
Where we were all sent.
The black in my head,
The tears in my eyes,
The feeling of anger,
And hatred, surprise.
For as I stood there,
Not able to breathe,
I saw no one help us,
From South Yorkshire Police.
I heard screams of pure terror,
Saw eyes buldge in pain,
I saw children to fragile,
To stand up again.
I saw people fall down,
In amounst all the fear,
But my body couldn’t manage,
One single more tear.
The red of the jersey’s.
The black of the ref,
Why did so many go,
Down that tunnel of death.
The sweet smell of perfume,
Entered my nose,
Just who did it come from,
Nobody knows.
As I feel myself lifting,
And floating away,
I look down in silence,
At the red Leppings Lane,
See police in the middle,
Not lifting a finger,
And smell the aroma,
Of the death that will linger.
Higher and higher,
I am now in the clouds,
But the screams and the suffering,
Is still everywhere around.
I’m almost at heaven,
Where Shanks’ sheds a tear,
He was made for this club,
That is shattered, and in fear.
So I ask you Mr Duckenfield,
How can you sleep?
When the red of the scarves,
Saw the web of deceit.
The black of the ref,
Was told your vicious lies,
About the blue of the gate,
As we lost 96 lives.
You admitted you lied,
And still got off free,
Now that doesn’t sound much,
Like justice to me.
Do you count lucky stars,
When you think of that case,
Co’s there’s 96 bright ones,
That call you a disgrace.
We were taught by our parents,
To respect the police,
But today’s kids just laugh at,
The South Yorkshire Police.
Gone but not forgotten R.I.P to the 96 Y.N.W.A