In a tunnel
Like a wedding where I am behind
A black veil
The darkness embraces me: my new bride

But I see a light
I run! I run!
Run towards the light
But as I reach the light
I see

Matador! Matador!
My executioner, dressed in lights
A sponge for the cheers
Of a bloodthirsty people
I see your face and I know: I will die this day
But whether I will **** is another matter

To you our exchange is but a game
To me it is a war
If I win it will be a Pyrrhic Victory
In which I am the only casualty:
You will live forever in memory
I am just beef to you

You hide behind your mounted friends
Their spears make a porcupine of me
I will be weak when you finally fight me:
The hero is but a coward.
I am the only character who knows the truth:
The truth dies with me

My horns are not weapons or tools
They are a symbol of my family’s pride
A pride you slaughter when you take me for sport
I fight with my pride: my sharpest blade

I cough and cough and cough
But I cannot dislodge your sword
My spine is a broken chain
My pride smeared on the sand
I ***** blood for one last time
To ***** your hands
Because in the eyes of your family you are clean
That couldn’t be further from the truth

I die beneath the lights
Listening to the cries of
TORO!
Toro!
toro…

The darkness is my new bride

Estoy en túnel
Como estoy en boda, detrás
De un velo *****
La oscuridad me abraza: mi novia nueva

Pero veo una luz
Y ¡Corro! ¡Corro!
Corro a la luz
Pero cuando llego a la luz
Veo

¡Matador! ¡Matador!
Mi verdugo, vestido en luces
Una esponja para las hurras
De una gente sanguinaria
Veo tu cara y sé: voy a morir hoy
Pero si voy a matar es una cosa diferente

Para ti nuestro intercambio solo es un juego
Para mi es una guerra
Si gano será una victoria pírrica
Donde seré la pérdida sola:
Vivirás para siempre en memoria
Yo habré sido solo carne de res

Te esconderás detrás
De tus amigos montados:
Sus banderillas me hacen
Parecer como puercoespín
Y seré débil cuando me peleas finalmente:
El protagonista es un cobarde.
Y yo soy el carácter solo quien sabe la verdad:
La verdad muere conmigo

Mis cuernos no son armas o herramientas
Son símbolos del orgullo de la familia mía
Un orgullo te diezmas cuando me tomas para deporte
Lucho con mi orgullo, mi hoja más afilado

Toso y toso y toso
Pero no puedo desbancar tu espada
Mi espalda es una cadena rota
Mi orgullo untado en la arena:
Vomito mi sangre para una vez más
Para ensuciar tus manos
Porque en los ojos de tu familia eres limpio
Y eso no puede estar
Más lejos de la realidad

Entonces, muero
Debajo de las luces
Escuchando de las gritas de ¡TORO!
¡Toro!
toro…

La oscuridad es mi novia nueva

It sickens me
To think that my ancestors were *****
By greasy, shaggy men from the north
Who burned down their houses
And pilfered their precious possessions
It sickens me
To think that I am but the last domino
In a centuries long trail of *******
It sickens me
To think that my father is a *******
His father was a *******
And all my children will be *******
And it sickens me
To think that I am so proud of that fact

Within my polluted veins may be found
Perhaps only one drop of foreign blood
But that drop of blood is from an ancient heathen deity
The years have diluted it but still it fills me
With a blissful rage, my poisoned skin tingles
With the most wonderful of furies
With every beat of my tainted heart the capacity
To duel with giants and annihilate armies
Resonates around my body
I feel I have the power to rend heaven
And lacerate the landscape of hell
With just my adulterated fingernails
Because I am the pink diamond
In the pile of precious stones
I’m impure, and I’m worth nothing to the masses
But I’m just as indomitable as my kin

So if any of my fellow white men
Strut round claiming to be pure, know this:
I will take a torch to your hall, hew your head
From your chauvinistic shoulders, and hang it
From my gateway as a warning to those who dare to disbelieve
That we are all somebody’s *******

Isn’t it strange
How amidst the dying leaves and growing grass and snarling ivy
Keeping their vigil without choice, perhaps

Isn’t it strange
How in the land of the doubted god, omnipresent, yet never seen
Who killed himself for the lives of the faithless, perhaps

Isn’t it strange
How in the shadow of His building of stubborn stone and vicious spire and painted glass
Waiting for a fable to knock, perhaps

Isn’t it strange
How with the shadows and ghosts and worms and butterflies
Symbols for what they guard, perhaps

Isn’t it strange
How in line with the crosses and grails and angels and virgins
Left in loving memory of the forgotten, perhaps

How curious it is
That the obelisk stands tallest: ancient symbol of those heretics
Who kneel before the filthy sun

Defile it as they will
Atop it may they place a crucifix
That they may execute the knowledge

But still it will stand
Still Proudest
Still Sneering
Still

Amidst the still and silence and spirits and guns, perhaps

What Man sees when the sun is too bright
What Man sees in the middle of the night
What Man sees in his darkest dreams
What Man never sees, it seems

The corporate megastar with his million
Dollar Rolex on his wrist grips the bottle
That he sells for infinite profit
Because the elixir shares his name

The marathon runner, with only six miles
To go showers himself with liquid diamonds
They ping against the tarmac and roll
Into the gutters unnoticed by the greedy crowds

The craftsman briefly coats
His calloused hands in silver to rinse them of the brick dust
As they dry they lose all value
But it’s a loss he doesn’t have time to account for

The clouds ***** out riches
But the public complain

The daughter of the busy housewife
Gratefully crams her mouth with elephant ****
Her filthy hands beckon her friends from the huts
She poisons herself with the bucket between her knees

I kneel on tarmac under blackened sky
No creature, breath or breeze here spoils the peace
And on my knuckle rests a butterfly
I shudder from the cold, his heartbeats cease
No frail and fragile flight did he achieve:
His wings were sealed together from his birth
And for that molten moment I believe
How much to him his simple flight is worth
I leave him in a hawthorn bush to fight
Against the hungry shadows, sneaking forth
I didn’t have the heart to end his plight
I feel as cruel as winter in the north
When life, then death are held with open hands
The wielder, faced with God, now understands