I Am a Matador

All you thought was overwrought
Had had enough of it
All your friends went sober but
You said it wouldn’t stick
Called your text Thesaurus Rex
And taught it in the courts
All your friends are in their beds
With other friends of yours
Cover me in concrete, baby,
Mire me in the marl
Doesn’t seem as fondly lately
Crying «Minotaur!»
Let’s off to the opera you
Can leave your headphones in
Counterfeit the manuscript, O
Blind the editor
I am not a china shop, no
I’m a matador
This is my prolix reply
When you say how you been