IVAN FANDINO

IVAN the terrible
The bull assassin
A blackguard of death
Paid by the malevolent
To procure breath

From a proud master
A bull of the field
Who knows persecution
And what it does yield

Oppression and callousness
Pitilessness
Bludgeoned and coerced
Given the stress

Uncompromising
draconian sphere
Stabbed kicked and broken
And rigid with fear

The gold braided vandal
The true matador
With his performance
The blood and the gore

Lacking compassion
and true sympathy
And its good that the bull
Could fight back for then we

Who watch the vile spectacle
Played out abroad
Can see the bull wince
It is no reward

For him he has empathy
For everyone
And feels sad that
Your face is not in the sun

With his horn in your chest
Yes we all know the rest
Death Should be slow
And painful and grow

To such a vile high
and when you die
Nothing from me
No respect will you see