The Flemish Plight - The Battle of the Golden Spurs

Описание: A song about the most famous battle in Flemish history; the Battle of the Golden Spurs in 1302 where a band of farmers led by Flemish noblemen repelled the French knights and won. At the end of the day, they collected the golden spurs of the fallen French knights.

“The Battle of the Golden Spurs”

A Folk Song of 1302 and the Spirit of Flanders

(Verse 1)

In the fields beneath a summer sky,
Where the Leie’s waters murmured by,
A thousand hearts in linen stood,
Not armored knights of noble blood.

They came from guilds, from farms and doors,
From weaving halls and market floors.
Their hands were rough, their voices worn,
But in their chest a flame was born.

(Chorus)

Oh, sing of the day of the golden spurs,
Where common folk became the stir.
Not for glory, crown, or fame—
But for the right to speak their name.

Oh, July sun on the Flemish plain,
Where hope rose up through toil and strain.
A stand was made beneath the stars—
And history kept their golden scars.

(Verse 2)

No banners gold or silver bright,
No shining steel, no courtly rite—
Just workers bound by silent vows
To guard their land, their craft, their towns.

They faced a host both proud and tall,
A world that never heard their call.
Yet side by side, with steady breath,
They held their ground in shadowed death.

(Pre-Chorus)

And though the odds were harsh and cold,
Their courage weighed like solid gold.
For those who stand for home and kin
Find strength that rises from within.

(Chorus)

Oh, sing of the day of the golden spurs,
Where common folk became the stir.
Not for glory, crown, or fame—
But for the right to speak their name.

Oh, July sun on the Flemish plain,
Where hope rose up through toil and strain.
A stand was made beneath the stars—
And history kept their golden scars.

(Bridge — reflective and slow)

Ohhh—
The wind still whispers through the grain,
A thousand tales in soft refrain.

Ohhh—
Not conquest carved their place in lore,
But humble hearts who asked no more.

(Verse 3)

And when the fields grew still again,
Their story traveled mouth to pen.
For from that day the world would know
What simple hands united show.

And in the lowlands’ quiet nights,
When lanterns glow with amber lights,
Their memory walks the gentle breeze—
A song of steadfast histories.

(Final Chorus — soaring, emotional)

Oh, sing of the day of the golden spurs,
When common lives became the verse.
A moment caught in time’s embrace,
A people rising into grace.

Oh, Flemish fields of old July,
Your echo still resounds on high.
For unity, for truth they stood—
And turned their tears to brotherhood.