They killed him

Slow, as one stares at a clock. Painful, as needles tearing ones throat. Easy, as killing a wounded bull. But, strong as they come Only came ever so often. It was a sight to hear and a sound to see. The roars of his strength as he left the bird back to his homeland where he’d be an outcast. He who sits on the red throne pulling his fists at a man with only his dignity. Had there ever lived strength in such a man when the other had his hands tied? “They killed him.” “Who?”, I say. The bull destined to die with no clan around except for his voice freeing the bounds of his people before his.