poor bull poor sad bull

Clapping and smiling
And hearing the cornets
Triumph as the matador
Standing aloft
The bull the poor beast
Is suffering madly
Bleeding out sadly
The fighting has ceased

The lack of conscience
The opportunism
The total dishonour
And rascality
An innocent unspotted soul
A vast fountain
Of blood blowing sideways
Spattered and free

The pain in his eyes
His teeth sharply bloodied
Coughing up everything left in his gut
No good man ever would pay to watch this stuff
A crowd full of arse holes
Watching a nut

A complete psychopath
Prancing around
Clad in his satins
Behold the great sound
Of the clarion call
Of the spluttering bull
Of the cry of the cornets
It does have that pull

That irreverent passion
The misfeasance caused
Something so rotten
For a moment it paused
As the great beast was silent
Sucking in air
Sorting his death out
For the people there

To be hauled off and chopped up
And eaten by those
Whose blood lust is everything
Down to their toes
This they call culture
Traditionally
I feel so sad for SPAIN
And their mentality