The Matador

I threw a rose to the matador, not sure who I was cheering for
 My aim was true, my heart was full, I loved the fighter and the bull
 I loved like only a woman can, a very complicated man
 I bound his wounds, I heard his cries, I gave him truth, I told him lies
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 His rage is made of many things: faithless women, wedding rings
 Snakes and snails and alcohol, his daddy's fist thrown through the wall
 Ah but he's beautiful when he's in the ring, the devil howls, the angels sing
 Sparks fly from his fingertips and words like birds fly from his lips
 Some man is lying in the dirt
 Some woman's crying that he's hurt
 But he's not alive without the thrill
 Without the dance, without the kill
 The lights go down, the people roar
 They're cheering on the matador
 And this is how the story goes
 I knew it when I threw the rose
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 I come to each and every show: the woman in the second row
 I watch them in their ancient dance and I know I never stood a chance
 Cause while other demons prance and clown, it's vanity that takes you down
 I thought that I could be the one but I'm just another hanger-on
 Some man is bleeding in the dirt
 Some woman's crying that she's hurt
 But who are we without the thrill
 Without the dance, without the kill
 And he is bull and matador
 And I'm the mother and the whore
 And this is how the story goes
 I knew it when I threw the rose
 ♪
 I threw a rose to the matador, not sure who I was cheering for
 My aim was true, my heart was full, I loved the fighter and the bull