Overcrowded Space.
1989, Hillsborough.
England.
1989.. a football game took place & in the face of a day so fine,
96 souls died. A life from every race was doomed crossing THAT line.
That line which intertwines between a pitch, and death by design.
Instead of a crowd that hollers and sits, they ignored the signs..
of a capacity crowd - beyond the times. Almost double the allowed
attendance, and innocent people were dependant on police,
not fit to preach from their presence that begged beyond belief.
A bunch of hypocritical white sheets, shit their pants at the gate,
so they kept it closed & chose to wait - sealing an opposing fate.
Yet the crowd never shifted hate..
..they only wanted an escape, far away from that twisted taste.
.
.
17 years on, and the families of those killed, still fight - strong.
& continue a constant battle of what police say is right, is wrong.
Many artists pent up, took a pen and book to right a song,
for the pride of the people who've had to fight for so long.
Straight from the Mothers tongue, a million accents and dialect
were united in grief - upon sombre they'd meet in respect
of the dead. For what's left is an unofficial truth..
with unofficial proof, that 96 people COULD have been let loose
to breath, rather than receed into their lungs which are set acute
at an angle, that they're body can't handle - so they wrangle in pain.
Making a Metropolitan Police's mantle lame -
for the light they're now percieved will never be the same.
.
A total fucking horrible day.
-Brix.