Death in the Afternoon - The Book Club

The Matador corners the beast,

The Anarchist enslaves the priest,

From Barcelona, down to Seville,

They drink the cocktail of the kill.

The captive begs for his release,

As they drag him by his ankles through the cobbled streets,

Long live the Republic, the people sing,

A somewhat futile prophecy.

And what a way to die, the middle of July,

No final requests, or no final rites,

Your God’s not for the poor, he’s not welcome anymore,

And neither are his spies.

They found a bruise upon my chest,

It was El Capitan’s request,

The day the foreign legion came, they lived up to their wretched names,

The bullet holes still watch you from the wall.

And what a way to die, the middle of July,

No final requests, or no final rites,

Your God’s not for the poor, he’s not welcome anymore,

And neither are his spies.

But do not be deceived, lying 'neath your feet, your feet,

A thousand broken bones will show how Uncle Franc did get his sweet revenge.

The Matador corners the beast,

The Matador corners the beast,

The day the foreign legion came, they lived up to their wretched names,

The day the foreign legion came, they lived up to their wretched names…