Collateral damage in the bull ring

The impulse to be wicked
Comes easy in the ring
SPAIN Uses its tactics
Certainly to bring
Its audiience to fervour
With gladatorial pain
The terror for the horses
So malignantly insane

The Picador a gutless oaf
Rides horseback and he will
Slash into the wild bulls neck
Wanting to instil
Agony and evil forcing retaliation
The bull will charge the horse he’s on
His horns seek penetration
Through the stomach imagine that
Disembowelling they
Stuff the entrails back with hay
And sow them up
To say

Such things to even think them
That anyone could dare
To make an animal suffer so
And even be aware
That this is actually happening
To a created soul
Tortured beyond imagination
By some weird arseole

It is beyond humanity
Its medieval crap
So far passed its sell by date
And a huge great gap
How man today can look away
Knowing that others dare
To make the equine elders suffer
It has to scare

The daylights out of everyone
Who knows this yet who goes
Pays to see this evil
And there before it flows
The blood and guts of the innocent
Tortured beyond belief
Petroeum up their nostrils
And in their ears
To give them grief

The cuadrilla they are zombies
Real life dead head cases
Maligning the innocent
Covering up their faces
Hapless wretched beautiful souls
Made to suffer so
It is their waking nightmare
Martyrdom in flow

Anguished and angst ridden
Wounded and careworn
Suffering the torments
Of just being born
Into this vile arena
Humiliated so
Suffering the unpleasantness
And the menace that we know

And its supposed to be amusement
Entertainment if you will
Blood is spurting everywhere
And the audience is still
roaring and applauding
This is Spain today
Unsightly graceless monsters
Ill proportioned more each day

These horses suffer terribly
Its tastelessness gone mad
Vulgarity depravity
So blatantly so bad
The din the crowd the terror
The misgivings and the pain
The cowardice of the Picador
The quitting shirking vain
Skulking yellow streak of shit
That sits their feeling he
Is the great big warrior
Whose unconcern we see

The nobility and gentility
Of an old horse clearly we
Watch it take its medicine
Its real ancestry
Gave it some distinction
And now its left to die
Under the arse of poltroon
Fixated with the sky

It really makes me angry
The wrathfulness I see
The cries listen you will hear them
Above the roar they be
Bad blood it is everywhere
The stench of it i feel
The calloussness and the barbousness
Its honestly so real.

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