The monarch and the peasant

Though you might be a monarch great,
With a stout heart which wouldn't fade,
No fear in the world would turn you down,
Yet be without peace of mind or renown.

You may ask how it is so,
Why would fate deal you such a cruel blow?
Hasn't the world eyes to see?
Isn't there any worth of nobility?

Then ask yourself what you have done,
To unite divided subjects under banner one.
Ask yourself if you have but freed,
A captive bird in gentle breeze.

Have you brought bliss to a life,
That has been destroyed by strife?
Have you stood by someone who needed?
Have you ever nursed someone who bleeded?

If you haven't loved your country's grass green,
You have no vision, no passion, no dream.
If blood hasn't rose through your ears,
To see an oppressed nation in its imaginary fears,

Tear off the golden crown that on your head lies,
And prepare to get forgotten as time flies.
For i'd rather be a peasant brave,
Than such a royal knave.