The People's Sword

He was a king of royal blood, but the crown weighed down his brow
Saw the people starve for bread, while nobles danced their vows
In Versailles' gilded mirror, he saw the end draw near
He chose to die a king or live as something clear

He shed his golden crown, donned a peasant's thread
Walked the streets with loaves in hand – no guards, no words he said
In the blacksmith's burning eyes, he saw what wealth concealed
If the people starve, then Heaven's gates must be sealed

O Louis, the Reformer
Sword held high, yet spoke as kin
Against the cold, unyielding lords
He wore justice as his royal skin
Humble with a hand of iron
A voice of peace, a will of fire
He saved France with no funeral pyre

He sought no war for vengeance, nor gold to feed his pride
But with sword and parchment bold, he carved the truth inside
England watched, and Austria shook
For a king with the people cannot be mistook

And when the traitors vowed to strike
He cried: Let privilege die – let the Nation rise
He seized their lands, gave farmers soil
And swore without a crown: The people are my royal toil

O Louis, the Reformer
Sword held high, yet spoke as kin
No Terror came, no guillotine
Just justice served, and bread made clean
Humble with a hand of iron
A voice of peace, a will of fire
The throne did not fall, it became the ground

The king returned, returned to stay