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 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
