he rode his horse in,

on his lifght from within,

leaving circles of sun on my skin,

and he bowed to the crowd,

who all cheered aloud,

for the man who once conquered his sin.

from on high he arose,

for the picador knows,

that from here his heart rules the land,

so he waved to his fans,

with the flick of a hand,

and knew that they'd all understand.

his words like fine knives,

that tortured young lives,

of girls who would swoon at his feet,

how he loved their deep moans,

and when he got them alone,

how he tasted their fruits pure and sweet.

Conqueror, come

this picador's son,

who rules like the others before,

in the ring and in life,

whether lover or wife,

his passion's remain

swift and sure.