See the brave toreador

just look at him thrive

Off the crowd as they roar.



For death brings a thrill

To the everyday lives of the

"non-com" observers

Who gloat and chastise

My mind can't believe we maintain

This barbarous blood thirsty game.



In their picturesque dwellings the aristo-classes

Spill blood that's not claret from cut-crystal glasses.

Never once pausing to contemplate why

For vanity's victories innocents die.



No better than bloodhounds

Hot on the scent

They butcher their prey

When its' energy's spent

My mind can't believe we maintain

This barbarous blood thirsty game.



Please show me this "sportsman"

You mention with pride

With his dog to defend him

And his gun at his side

If courage is the one thing

Your kind do not lack

Then why don't you hunt something

That can fight you back?



I see only cowardice ridden by guilt

And your hands won't wash clean of the blood they have spilt.

What measure of madness makes you all so ill

That your passport to pleaseure's a licence to kill?



So I won't waste my time trying to understand why

For vanity's victories innocents die

'Cus you're all vicious bastards I'm sick of your crap

So I won't bat an eyelid when it's you in the trap.

I still can't believe we maintain

This barbarous blood thirsty game