The Matador

I threw a rose to the matador, not sure who I was cheering for

My aim was true, my heart was full, I loved the fighter and the bull

I loved like only a woman can, a very complicated man

I bound his wounds, I heard his cries, I gave him truth, I told him lies

His rage is made of many things: faithless women, wedding rings

Snakes and snails and alcohol, his daddy's fist thrown through the wall

Ah but he's beautiful when he's in the ring, the devil howls, the angels sing

Sparks fly from his fingertips and words like birds fly from his lips

Some man is lying in the dirt

Some woman's crying that he's hurt

But he's not alive without the thrill

Without the dance, without the kill

The lights go down, the people roar

They're cheering on the matador

And this is how the story goes

I knew it when I threw the rose

I come to each and every show: the woman in the second row

I watch them in their ancient dance and I know I never stood a chance

Cause while other demons prance and clown, it's vanity that takes you down

I thought that I could be the one but I'm just another hanger-on

Some man is bleeding in the dirt

Some woman's crying that she's hurt

But who are we without the thrill

Without the dance, without the kill

And he is bull and matador

And I'm the mother and the whore

And this is how the story goes

I knew it when I threw the rose

I threw a rose to the matador, not sure who I was cheering for

My aim was true, my heart was full, I loved the fighter and the bull