They’re coming to the rescue; they’re coming to my aid
Crushed, stunned and gasping, heart heavy as a stone
I’m lost, I’m horrified, my God, I’m shivered to the bone.
I’ve just experienced terror; I’ve sensed the power of Death
I’ve grabbed the hand that held me steely strong
And what is more, I’ve narrowly escaped my final breath.
The local folk of Sheffield have clasped us close
With phones and toilets, tea and tears and sorrow
Words of comfort made us face a changed tomorrow.
These are they who helped us gain our strength
These are they who gave the stranger rest
Compassion here in Sheffield went to any length.
Terrace houses opened up and we just stumbled in
With kindly Sheffield voices coming to our aid
Giving this and giving that, not asking to be paid.
We are ordinary people too, Scouser is our name
Many tell of kindness, for Sheffield people cared
As acts of mercy added to the locals’ lasting fame.
When this day is sad remembered in many a weeping heart
Be comforted that Everton and Sheffield join us of Liverpool
We march as friends for justice; foul lies have been so cruel.
Having written LAMENT OF THE YEARS and PURPLE TOWN,
I’ve always wanted to write about those people of Sheffield
who came out of their houses to assist the dazed, injured
and appalled Liverpool fans who were lost in a sea of horror
on that terrible day.