Plaza De Toros

I remember waking up

To the bright sunlight

Streaming through the blinds

From the courtyard rose sevillanas

And American rock and roll

My father in his Sunday best

Played records for his friends

I tasted sangria from a half full cup

And my sister slapped my hand

Then we followed on

The swelling crowd

To the Plaza de Toros

Now come the picadors

The crowd gets to their feet and roars

Papa do they really kill the bull?

Then comes the matador

Behind his back a gleaming sword

Papa do they really kill the bull?

In the ancient streets

Of the old city

Comes a marching crowd

In unison

They chant and sing

Hold their placards in the air

The shopkeeper motions

Quick come inside

Then he rolls the shutters down

(And then) the shots ring out

The men run and shout

The old man gives me a coke

We emerged at dusk

And the water in the street was pink

Mama do they really kill the bull?

Then I thought I saw the matador

He held up high a gleaming sword

Papa do they really kill the bull?

Dug a hole in the ground

As boys often do

And we found a bandolier

And a German made

Hand grenade

From the Spanish civil war

Older boys came along

Said go back in the wheat

Too much danger to be near

And the Romany men

Looked on holding piles of sheets

And my mother’s blue green blouse

Then came the base MPs

The Romany slipped back into the wheat

Papa do they really kill the bull?

And always the Matador

Behind his back a gleaming sword

Papa do they really kill the bull?