“Those who stab a wounded and tortured bull with a sword purely for the accolade will never find a resting place”

Look at you
proud as a peacock
you clod
look at me
I cannot stand
but the rod
is not at my throat
its now at yours
what you do
with that sword
now will prove the applause
if you thrust it in me
the crowd’s going to roar
But I’m near to death
so what ever for
let me breathe a few seconds
and take my life in
and realise Spain
is the country where sin
goes hand in hand
with its culture to be
and death comes to others
as it has come to me

the great cavalcade
is now mine in the sky
and if you thrust your sword
into me you will die
so slowly and so painfully
and in your mind
so think for a moment
and see whose behind

you, its an angel
but she’s come for me
she might just brush you
if she does you will see
you will put down your sword
and just walk away
and will not pick up again
ever
the way

is open for you
to leave these sins behind
and Spain has to follow