There were women holding rosaries
On the day Manolette died
Teenage girls in soft white dresses
Standing silent peace respecting
Groups of boys held in their hands
The fragments of a shattered idol
The old men with their traditions challenged
Refrained from tears
Neck neck hook
Poles of wood
The Picadores stood eyes ablaze
To view brutal contest
In the vale of years
Courage unfailing
Agility exhausted
Youth entered challenge
Reached for title shelved
Patrons in attendance
To disarm a common myth
Homage played to the victor of immortality
Cloaked in bold tones
In the stockyard the beasts
Did climb their barriers
Bid by a frenzied ring
Bred for one purpose only
o die in man's sport
Dash against his spindle
An instant fell to wounding
On the day
Swords penetrating
On the day Torches igniting
On the day
Flower wreaths encircling
The day On the day
An August day in the hills of Spain, a pair of children emerged from a cave.
The strangest sight there alone they stood,
with skin of green and words no one had heard.
The girl was stronger, the boy was weak,
with her new mother she learned to speak.
And wove a tale of a dying sun, they had left darkness,
a dark world come undone.
They travelled so far. Believing they came from a star.
She fell through life, through time, through parallel lives.
The men of science, the men of fame, the men of letters tried to explain:
Was it parallel worlds or a twist of time to make her
think she'd fallen from the sky?
A whirlwind spun them all alone, took them from their twilight home.
Believing they came from a star.