Oh Belfast, we beseech thee
with your streets of glass and dirt
Press us to your fractured heart
and numb us to the hurt

Then warm us by your tyre fires
that plume sweet and poison smoke,
and give us drink and violence;
a sore to poke and poke

But lead us then to hill-top
and display to us your all
And try to help us realise
that we build our own walls

Help us see, for all that's wrong
the city's not to blame;
The people need to fight the fire,
or else they fan the flames

Amen.

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