SONG OF THE TOREADOR

 Lord, send me a matador to slay the bull
Of self so egotistic,
Give him the final coup de grace that will kill
This vain narcissistic.

Worldly desire is the waving red rag
To this mad idiosyncratic,
Stirring him to furious excitement,
So he's almost psychiatric.

Picadors of life's stings enrage the bull,
The matador is the ace gymnatic,
He slays the bull at last,
In a ceremony quite orgiastic.