Network
We don't talk about Bruno, no, no, no
We don't talk about Bruno
Hey, grew to live in fear of Bruno stuttering or stumbling
I can always hear him sort of muttering and mumbling
I associate him with the sound of falling sand, ch-ch-ch
It's a heavy lift with a gift so humbling
Always left Abuela and the family fumbling
Grappling with prophecies they couldn't understand
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Do you understand?
A seven-foot frame, rats along his back
When he calls your name, it all fades to black
Yeah, he sees your dreams and feasts on your screams (hey)
We don't talk about Bruno, no, no, no
We don't talk about Bruno
He told me my fish would die, the next day, dead (no, no)
He told me I'd grow a gut and just like he said (no, no)
He said that all my hair would disappear
Now, look at my head (no, no)
Your fate is sealed when your prophecy is read
He told me that the life of my dreams
Would be promised, and someday be mine
He told me that my power would grow
Like the grapes that thrive on the vine
(Óye, Mariano's on his way)
