here's another song by Eric Bogle

it's called 'my youngest son'

My youngest son came home today
his friends marched with him all the way
the pipes and drums beat out the time as in his box of polished pine
like dead meat on a butcher's tray
my youngest son came home to stay

my youngest son was a fine young man with a wife a daughter and two sons
a man he could of lived a died till by a bullet's sign to fight
now he's a saint or so they say
they brought their saint home today

above the narrow Belfast streets an Irish sky looks down and weeps
as children blood in gutter spilled in dreams of freedom unfilled
as part of freedom's price to pay my youngest son came home to stay

My youngest son came home today
his friends marched with him all the way
the pipes and drums beat out the time as in his box of polished pine
like dead meat on a butcher's tray
my youngest son came home to stay
and this time he's home to stay

That is for all the terrorist groups out there in the world