Retaliation

The gauntlets thrown down
Into the dust
A provocative act
Its all Cut and thrust
Whose calling whose bluff
The great matador
Seen by so many
He is one to adore

Clad in his satins
His purple and pink
Pique and crinoline
What do they think
Prancing about like
A prime arse on gin
With his knives and his swords
And really such sin

Why is he doing this
The torture is seen
To be vile and disturbing
And awfully mean
The bull has no qualms about
All of this crap
With his eyes firmly fixed
On this matador chap

He has lost lots of blood
From a rather big
Thrust
Whistles and pipes
And the rich smell of must
Flows over our heads
And into the sky
Witnessing here that this
Proud beast must die

Up leaps the man
The great matador
As proud as a punch
In his own little war
With his sharp little dirk
Pushed into the bull
Great breathing sweats
His lungs should be full
Of blood he is choking and feeling
So ill
As more and more blood from his neck
Starts to spill

And the swords are all hanging
His wounds must be sore
He can see this bright object
And feel its base
core
Dragging him out of this world
Out into
A battle scarred yeoman
Who he will run through

Head down eyes ablaze
With the temper of night
With faith leaving fast
And nothing much right
Retaliation apparently worth
Trying this day
Straight from the earth

His great horns a tangle
With the midrift of one
Miserable matador
Who he has undone
Unscrambled and broken
And left in the ring
To the cries of the audience
That kind of thing

A crescendo of ranting of panting
Of coughing
This was hostility
Whats in the offing?
Should he retaliate
Quickly take aim
And push his great horns
Through his guts
The new game

Of lets kill the matador
Lets run him through
All of his antics
What does he do
Impress the ladies possibly so
But more likely impressing the corporate
Flow

Return the compliment
And make it hurt
You can get even
Be bloody curt
Get ones own back on him
Thrusts and just turn
The wounds that will cause
Him almost to burn

The sparring is over
I had to fight back
Beaten and cut to bits
So my attack
Had to be genuine had to be hard
When he saw it late
When he was off guard

It is gladiatorial
And very unfair
Its never a sport
For us bulls its not fair
We are all victims
Suffering so
Turned inside out
By the vile too and fro

Spain talks up culture
Tradition its word
In all the cities what has occurred
Bulls fight prepared to be beaten to death
To be murdered and tortured forsaking all breath

People wear leather its just our skin
People eat beef so called it is win win
Animals are used all over the place
They are eaten abused and worn
Such disgrace
Is that they truthfully don ‘t want to die
None of them ever which is now why
Adversity beckons the plague source is there
We seek and they find us
But few seem aware

Retaliation its all we have left
Stripped of our decency we are bereft
Of what made us valiant what got us by
Cut to the core by the matador guy
Its not in our make up to damage and kill
But the continual torture is less of a thrill
We have to join up in the spirit and say
Spain and its ugliness must go away
And we have to collectively and patiently try
To guarantee more of the matadors die
For then only then will these cultural souls
Realise deep down we too have goals.