Pride of all the matadors and toreadors they all bowed to him
Into the arena he would walk and surely he would win
The bull he was to fight today was chosen from all the best in Spain
When Isabellas rose the master he new he would remain
Isabella, Isabella...
The fight had only just begun the crowd was screaming out for more
The bull began to kick and buck with a fury he'd never known before
Then suddenly the crowd rose to it's feet and Isabella cried
The hero of a thousand fights and there on the ground he died
Isabella, Isabella...
