On A Bull Run

Washing powder, wheels do spin..
White as snow, in cloths to be worn..
But not the beast that awaits, with poofs..
Ready steady, to pounce on go..

Do a dear a female deer..
Run, run, a bull comes, round the hill with rage..
Did I hear go, like a gun shot, trigger, paw!..
To mark start lines on bull runs..


Run, run, run,..
There is a fire on the mountain..
And it burns in the eyes, rage..
Of the bull that cometh..


Why wear white, in ceremonial attires..
And stand in the face, of a double edged rage..
And on peekaboo, he just called your bluff..


Red marks, on white cloths worn..
Marks out, points of impact zones..
Like dots of darts played..


If you make it to the end, on roads..
Take a sharp turn, by the side of walks..
A deep breathe, that follows..


And hopefully raging bulls..
Would have missed banzai, by a blink..
To be your saving grace


If you make it to the end..
Have a drink on me, on my tab..
Sing aloud, drink some more..


Hug a friend, and strangers too..
Next year, we will do it, all over again..
It is  just for the blood that runs in man