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 lyin' 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 bleedin' 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