remember, remember....

gunpowder!
guy fawke's day.
bonfires.
treasony plots that should never be forgot...
but what do WE have to show for it?
a deep, dark, dolorous day.
awwwwww, man.
where's the sun, duders?
it isn't hanging out here, that's for sure.
and it's molto difficult to just grab a tinder and flint
for spaking up an anti-parliamentarian funeral pyre
under the crushing cloudcover,
the wet woodsly saturated and sopping sh!t-salad
of drenched and quenched combustibles in a drizzle.
fact.
so,
instead,
it looks like a dearth of dopeness
and the dread of another 'nother sunless set of hours.
the sun still rises and sets behind all this grim grayness.
i know that.
and yet it's dusk until dusk, from dawn.
lighter gray is the only indicator of time's passage.
that's a sure-enough long night.
so far it's been about 36 hours.
lugubrious is my realm this day, neighbors.
that's word.
***********
guy fawkes may have been a murderous extremist,
but he didn't deserve to get tattlebabied on.
i mean,
that's just not cool.
and nobody likes a snitch.
especially not mr. fawkes.
he kinda got F*'d up after the
anonymous letter sold his A* out.
i mean, he stage-dived face first off the scaffold,
and broke his OWN neck....
but got drawn and quartrered anyway.
that's such a hard style.
but of course now there's a bonfire and fireworks
celebrating his capture, torture, and death,
so almost everybody wins.
...except catholics in 1605.
hey-O!
really,
it's just another case of keeping it real
by playing it close.
don't talk about it, be about it.
don't dream it, be it.
and don't tell mutha-b!tches what time it is,
because snitchy tattletale babyholes just can't resist
blabbity-blabbing all the hottness away.
of course,
if it clears up in these fog-kisssed peaks,
i'm still gonna burn the ever-lovin' living sh!t
outta some barbarian beacon brushpiles.
a fire is a fire, after all.
sorry guy;
never quiet, never soft.....