THE BULLFIGHT

 

The Bullfight

 

The Trumpet sounds like a Call to War

And can eyes obscured by Vaseline see anything but hate?

Whatever dignity exists is with the killed not the killer

With those who were beaten and tortured

For just wanting to live free

 

Not Art, not Poetry,

Not Dance or Theatre

 

And the killer’s cape is the Flag of Spain

And the crowd’s ecstatic roar drowns out all thought

 

Not Art, not Poetry,

Not Dance or Theatre

 

The purity of the protest can heal this shame of Spain’s

Can take the Vaseline from out of the eyes of the ignorant watcher

 

Not Art, not Poetry,

Not Dance or Theatre

 

When every Bull is free

When every Truth is free

Then Spain shall be free

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