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"Remember, remember
The 5th of November,
Gunpowder, treason, and plot,
I see no reason, why the gunpowder treason,
should ever be forgot."

The 5th of November,
by Robert Catesby.
One of histories greatest symphonies.
Obtaining mass quantaties of powder,
yet not too many guns.
Hide away now little ones

they'll be charging like the huns.
Marching forth.

We must destroy the King
and persecute the holders

of the wretched purse strings.

We're comin for you.

Preare your arms, draw your swords
and prepare to be hung, drawn, and chopped into quarts.

Novermber 5th will be quite the scene.
Plot amous for one,

but shared by thirteen.
Due to a past in special forces and skill.
I was ordered to stand guard the rumor mill.
A letter arrived.
Now this is a change plans.
Gave knowledge to those that represent and demand.
They took command
with a knife to my gut.
They threatened my hands.

Only way to save them was to say the plan.

They put me on display.
Let me to rot.

Here comes another

sick twist to the plot.

Catesby, their leader.
Well, he ran and got shot!

The others ran too,
but sought only help and support.
They returned empty handed
and saw our bodies in quarts.
Not much was known 
of the plot or its sorts.
Except to poor Garnet,

the man behind closed doors.

Found guilty of knowing the truth,
he was beat half to death
for following God's rules.
It didn't take long.
The jail bird just kept going

just singing his song.

Bound by rules of the confession,
he made his interogators full of obsession.
They got what they needed and

then bound that poor squire.
Lugged his body around back
and started a fire.