🌺 "Buñuelos y Amor: A Flamenco Memory" | Bittersweet Tribute to Abuela's Love 🎸💃

🌹Prepare to be transported to a world of cherished memories and bittersweet longing. Artificial Imagin8 presents "Buñuelos y Amor: A Flamenco Memory" - a passionate rumba flamenca that weaves together the threads of family, tradition, and the enduring power of a grandmother's love.
🎭 We've blended the soulful rhythms of flamenco guitar with modern pop sensibilities to create a hauntingly beautiful tribute to a beloved Abuela and her unforgettable buñuelos.
🎶 Features:
• Mesmerizing female vocals that capture the essence of love and loss
• Intricate flamenco guitar work that dances between joy and sorrow
• Pulsing percussion beats that echo the heartbeat of cherished memories
• Lyrics that paint a vivid picture of childhood innocence and adult reflection
🔊 "Buñuelos y Amor" is a slow, passionate journey through time, where the scent of cinnamon and sugar becomes a portal to the past. It's the perfect soundtrack for reminiscing about loved ones, honoring family traditions, or simply appreciating the power of food to connect us across generations.
🌹 Experience the emotion:
• Feel the warmth of Abuela's kitchen on a sunny morning
• Taste the sweetness of freshly made buñuelos on your tongue
• Embrace the bittersweet realization that love transcends time and space
🎵 Lyrics:
The birds that sing the morning song,
Remind me of not so long ago,
When you’d shuffle out to meet them,
Scatter seed and be at peace again.
And in those moments I felt so small,
Because your heart was just so tall,
We’d laugh and enjoy the nature,
I miss you so much my Abuela...
And what most that reminds me of my loss,
Is when I catch the smell of Buñuelos...
And though I was so grown when we reached the end,
when in your presence it seemed I was a child again.
Always your niña, that little girl so fair and sweet,
and you'd always bake the fresh Buñuelos for us to eat.
Oh Abuela...
Oh the smell of your Buñuelos...
Eggs and flour everywhere,
You’d make sure we both tied up our hair,
The smell of butter melting fills the space.
Punch and stretch and shape and mould,
They’re not ready until they’re marigold
In their colour, and then to add the taste
Cinnamon and Sugar,
And my mouth would water,
But if I tried,
My hand you’d strike;
And I tried, each and every time…
But they don’t taste so sweet no more.
And the smell of Cinnamon, it’s lost its charm
The doorway to the kitchen feels like crossing the veil.
I tell myself each year, I’ll try to make them just like you taught me, but I fail…
It was never about the food, but spending time with you…
And though I was so grown when we reached the end,
when in your presence it seemed I was a child again.
Always your niña, that little girl so fair and sweet,
and you'd always bake the fresh Buñuelos for us to eat.
Oh Abuela...
Oh the smell of your Buñuelos...
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