(in english, given my lack of kirundi)
Louis, Louis, where have you been
Of late? I see your picture every day:
There is within it no trace of hate.
Your markets burn, there’s turmoil
In your streets just because there’s
This guy who thinks he fit your shoes.
Louis, Louis, there is no bride
Beneath the tree at Bujumbura
Your people mourn & suffocate.
Louis, Louis, you were true mwabi
To your land, chosen president,
Rwagasore, but they shot you dead.
Louis, Louis, i humbly pray to thee
Please deliver us from misery
Give us back your pride & legacy.