Justice Part 1
¶ 1
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I remember standing,
waiting, for the game to begin.
Panicking, sweating,
bent over a bar.
The powers that be would keep packing us in,
like cattle.
A nice little earner.
Money without sin.
I’m not just talking about 1989,
but every season before,
for ten years, and more.
So, if you remember,
or you’ve been on the take,
then you have to admit that
there’s been some mistakes
at the football.
¶ 2
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I wasn’t at Hillsborough,
but my family was.
Caged like animals.
Clawing for breath.
Herded by horses.
Then trampled to death.
I wasn’t there,
and I’m really glad now,
‘cos I’d never have gone
to the football again.
Never stood in the Albert,
breathing in smoke,
to drink ‘til I’m senseless
and cry ‘til I choke.
¶ 3
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A stab in the stomach.
A kick in the teeth,
as cheers of joy echoed around each,
of Highbury, Old Trafford and Villa Park,
as the news of the death toll
grew and grew.
Don’t you realise you stupid fools,
on another day,
it would have been you.
I’ve no doubt that the same people
led you by the nose,
took your money, and I’ve seen
just how close
to tragedy we all walked
before that fine, sunny day in
Hillsborough.
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