To yield silk for silk,
millimeter by millimeter,
the petal-like tissue
to the finest needle
To weave, weave, weave,
weave the bull in pink,
without yielding the very terrain
of the matado
In the smothness of the silk,
in the cutting edge of a glimpse,
to slide over the sword
the purity of fir
To retain the fate of the bull,
to feel the vein on the fingertip,
to bring the leather close to the body
without a flip of fea
With the thinness of the needle,
even if the blood chills,
retain the dark rose
on the petal-like ski
In the bullfight in the round,
to spill blood and salt,
weaving a rose
of fatal red colo
Millimeter by millimeter,
to yield, yield, yieid,
to yield until the very minute
when feeling that death has com
