The Matador and the BULL

Its hard to observe
The cowardice and pain
The thing clad in satin
The Bull half insane
Bloodloss apparent
Still standing there
Watched by the audience
And the despair
See it for what it is
A blankness of spirit
Just depravity
Indifference inertia
Impassive and wrong
SPAIN in a nutshell
Just doesn’t belong

To what we would call
Such discrimination
A certainty
Irrational groundless
A disequilibrium
All I can see
They call it a fight
It was never such, it
Was just
And from where I sit
Unaware and unconscious
Oblivious too
The rapacious wickedness
That did ensue

The BUll was the sage
A master in fact
A true shining light
A mentor intact
The jester a blockhead
A highly paid fool
Deranged and deluded
And immensely cruel
The audience watching
No foresight at all
A stammering bunch
Not from any school
Of thought hypocritical
Mendaciously they
Disingenuous twerps
At the end of the day
Graceless and hideous
Unable to see
What was before them
Just vulgarity

Heaven no place for them
Not any more
Their tastelessness commonplace
Bad form and raw
Cowering and skulking
Irrevent they
Just have no composure
No wonder they pay
With stony indifference
Shameful they be
In the presence of courage
And nobility

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