Guy Fawkes

Lyrics In the winter of fifteen-seventy, A child was born beneath an English sky; Years rolled on, and faith became a fault line, While crowns and kingdoms watched each other’s eyes. In London, shadows gathered under stone, A whispered plan took shape below the throne. Barrels hidden in the darkness, Footsteps fading through the hall; One spark meant to change the kingdom, One night meant to shake them all. Guy Fawkes, down beneath the palace floor, With the gunpowder waiting by the door; They tried to strike the king, to end the reign— But the plot was found, and nothing stayed the same. Guy Fawkes, when the dawn came cold and bright, The bells rang out across the London night; Before the rope could finish what it planned, He fell and broke his neck before the hand. November fifth, sixteen-oh-five, A warning turned the searchlight on; They found him guarding all the powder, And the secret night was gone. They took him bound through iron doorways, Questioned him through pain and fear; The state declared its judgment: A traitor’s death was waiting near. The scaffold stood in winter, The crowd was gathered there; The sentence called for hanging, Then the blade, the rope, the air. Guy Fawkes, down beneath the palace floor, With the gunpowder waiting by the door; They tried to strike the king, to end the reign— But the plot was found, and nothing stayed the same. Guy Fawkes, when the dawn came cold and bright, The bells rang out across the London night; Before the rope could finish what it planned, He fell and broke his neck before the hand. A kingdom wrote the story, A people kept the flame; Each year the sparks remember The night they spoke his name. But history’s no simple tale Of heroes, villains, right— Just power, faith, and powder In the dark before the light. Guy Fawkes, down beneath the palace floor, With the gunpowder waiting by the door; He tried to strike the king, but failed the plan— And history remembers what one night began. Guy Fawkes, in the smoke and winter rain, The plot was found; the crown remained. Before the rope could finish what it planned, He fell and broke his neck before the hand. Remember, remember, the fifth of November— The barrels below, the sparks above; A plot, a crown, a night remembered, And a story caught between fear and love