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Thoughts of a bored Bull


Notes

from The Bulls
by Jacques Brel

Every Sunday the bulls are bored
When they have to run for us

Who will tell us what it's thinking
A bull that's turning and dancing
And suddenly sees that he's completely naked

Who will tell us what it's dreaming
A bull whose eye is looking up
And who discovers he's wearing the cuckolds' horns

Every Sunday the bulls are bored
When they have to die for us

Now the sword's going in and the crowd leans forward
Now the sword's has gone in and the crowd's on its feet

As they're falling to the ground
The bulls are dreaming of a hell
Where dead men and toreros are ablaze
Ah!

Or at the moment when they die
Might they perhaps not pardon us
Thinking of Carthage, Waterloo, and Verdun
Verdun

Enjoy!



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