The Bulls Lyrics - Marc Almond

On Sundays the bulls get so bored 

When they're asked to show off for us 

There is the sun, the sand, and the arena 

There are the bulls ready to bleed for us 

It's time when grocery clerks 

Become Don Juan 

And all the ugly girls 

Turn into swans 

Who can say what he's found 

That bull who turns and paws the ground 

And suddenly he sees himself all nude 

Who can say what he dreams 

That bull who hears the silent screams 

From the open mouths of multitudes 

Related 

The Best Karaoke Songs Ever, Ranked 

Every Lyric From Miley Cyrus' New Album 'Younger Now' 

Get To Know Charming Folk Trio, The Accidentals 

On Sundays the bulls get so bored 

When they're asked to suffer for us 

There are the picadors and the mobs revenge 

There are the toreros and the mob's revenge, 

there are the toreros - and the mob kneels for us 

It's time when grocery clerks 

become Garcia-Lorca 

And the girls put the roses in their teeth 

Like Carmen 

On Sundays the bulls get so bored 

When they're asked to drop dead for us 

The sword will plunge down 

And the mob will drool 

The blood will poor down 

And turn the sand to mud 

Photos 

It's time when grocery clerks 

Become Nero 

And the girls scream 

And shout the name of their hero 

And when finally they fell 

Did the bulls dream of a hell 

Where men and worn out matadors 

Still burn 

And perhaps with their last breath 

Would they pardon us their death 

Knowing what we did at 

Carthage, Waterloo, Verdon, Stalingrad, Iwoa Jima, Hiroshima, SaigonOn Sundays the bulls get so bored 

When they're asked to show off for us 

There is the sun, the sand, and the arena 

There are the bulls ready to bleed for us 

It's time when grocery clerks 

Become Don Juan 

And all the ugly girls 

Turn into swans 

Who can say what he's found 

That bull who turns and paws the ground 

And suddenly he sees himself all nude 

Who can say what he dreams 

That bull who hears the silent screams 

From the open mouths of multitudes 

On Sundays the bulls get so bored 

When they're asked to suffer for us 

There are the picadors and the mobs revenge 

There are the toreros and the mob's revenge, 

there are the toreros - and the mob kneels for us 

It's time when grocery clerks 

become Garcia-Lorca 

And the girls put the roses in their teeth 

Like Carmen 

On Sundays the bulls get so bored 

When they're asked to drop dead for us 

The sword will plunge down 

And the mob will drool 

The blood will poor down 

And turn the sand to mud 

It's time when grocery clerks 

Become Nero 

And the girls scream 

And shout the name of their hero 

And when finally they fell 

Did the bulls dream of a hell 

Where men and worn out matadors 

Still burn 

And perhaps with their last breath 

Would they pardon us their death 

Knowing what we did at 

Carthage, Waterloo, Verdon, Stalingrad, Iwoa Jima, Hiroshima, Saigon