The Pope and the Bulls

Why would a pope care
He sat on his great chair
A steak in his hand
Does he understand
Their blood dried and red
Put in wine which has led
Many to say
Why is it that way

A bull has concern
He has fought he doth learn
Man cannot be kind
With such a vague mind
Spain fights and kills
Tortures and spills
Gallons of blood
Creates, an inner flood

Shaving their horns
Chillis in their eyes
Daggers and spears
Raising the fears
Fighting in rings
And the horror it brings
Cutting off tails
Off ears it just pails
Into insignificance
Tragically we
Cannot join the great audience
Watching for free

As for the pope
There is no hope
His bloody steaks drip
His religion may rip
Catholics everywhere
What do they do
Eat dead flesh and visit
The most awful zoo

Bulls and the fighting
The running thorough towns
Stabbing molestation
Evil abundance
Such detestation
The cruelty stinks
As to the pope
Bulls have no hope
No hope at all
Just one final call