I am a bull in the arena of Madrid.

As they stick needles into me

This magnificent structure, with the

Universe behind, exists only to watch me die.

They come again, I leave the stinger in.

I let the poison gather in my arms

And sit. Even if I knocked a picador

Another would take his place at my throat.

So I sit and let the wasps sting

Let the matador march up with

His cape, his sword and his applause.

I am a bull in the arena of Madrid.