It was the 21st December 1988,
A cold and damp wintry night,
Everyone getting set for Christmas,
Looking forward to a festive delight,
In the small borders town of Lockerbie,
It was just like all round the land,
People wrapping up presents,
Cooking food doing all that was planned,
In Prestwick Airport 60 miles away,
Air Traffic Control watched flight 103,
Just a blip on a radar screen,
One of many they'd deal with and see,
The plane requested oceanic clearance,
Routine in flights such as this,
Passengers dreamed of seeing loved ones,
And that first reunion kiss,
But at 7pm on the radar,
The contollers screen showed it all,
Dozens of green squares all over,
The plane had blew up and would fall,
It only took a minute or two,
Before debris came down from the sky,
With the bulk of it dropping on Lockerbie,
Where many innocent people would die,
Bodies dropped still strapped in their seats,
As wreckage rained down on the town,
But at 13 Sherwood Crescent,
The main fuselage had come down,
The house disappeared in an instant,
Along with half of the street,
People ran to do all they could,
But the fires were all round their feet,
Emergency services got to the scene,
And everyone done all they could,
Every man, woman and child,
Done and seen more than a human should,
Bodies lay twisted and some not intact,
They covered the land all around,
Hanging in trees and lying in fields,
With luggage strewn all on the ground,
Terrorists had planted a bomb on the plane,
Because our countries didn't see eye to eye,
But rather than sitting discussing things,
The plane was blown from the sky,
So many people aboard the flight,
And so many folk on the ground,
Everyone of them innocent,
This death toll will always astound,
Please think of the families and victims,
As we reach this time of the year,
Christmas is special to most,
But to others it brings back their fear.
