Then there's this one - a commentary on the futility of sectarian strife...Can't give a source unfortunately:

LAST HOUSE IN OUR STREET

Last house in our street is the one we are living in.
    Throw the ball against the wall and back to me.
All the other windows have concrete curtains.
    Open up your eyes and tell me what you see.

Flowers in our garden are made of bricks and broken glass.
    Throw the ball against the wall and back to me.
And round the back we are growing outside toilets.
    Open up your eyes and tell me what you see.

Wee Albert Mooney was blinded by a petrol bomb.
    Throw the ball against the wall and back to me.
Bombers said, “We’re sorry. It must have been an accident.”
    Open up your eyes and tell me what you see.

Big rubber bullet killed little Johnny Morrissey.
    Throw the ball against the wall and back to me.
A policeman fired it; it must have been an accident.
    Open up your eyes and tell me what you see.

We made the world and Belfast is a part of it.
    Throw the ball against the wall and back to me.
Sometimes I wonder if Belfast was an accident.
    Open up your eyes and tell me what you see.

There's a wall, so there is, between us and them there is.
    Throw the ball against the wall and back to me.
Can anybody tell me they didn't help in building it?
    Open up your eyes and tell me what you see.

The eyes of the world have concrete curtains.
    Throw the ball against the wall and back to me.
Would you tear down the wall? Would you open up the windows?
    Open up your eyes and tell me what you see.

Last house in our street is the one we are living in.
    Throw the ball against the wall and back to me.
All the other windows have concrete curtains.
    Open up your eyes and tell me what you see.
    Open up your eyes and tell me what you see.