The black void of celestiality
lies above us
From out night airs
fountains of colour appearA slow animation drawn of rainbow sparks
Pyrotechnic canvas in celebration of triumph
Or would that it should seem that way to us
Lest we forget its true meaning; its merciless loss
Of the last man to enter parliament with integrity
Though misplaced it was sincere in its dark belief
And now on November the fifth of each year
Four nations celebrate the redemption of the king
Where within each realm a quarter of Guy Fawkes resides
