Learn Spanish With Andrés Cepeda with these 23 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)

Cepeda spends the first half of this bolero raising a bet nobody asked him to make. The sky can lose its stars, the sea its size, the rainbow its colour, the flowers their scent — Si perdiera el arco iris su belleza / Y las flores su perfume y su color (If the rainbow lost its beauty / And the flowers their perfume and their colour) — and none of it would cost him what aquella de quedarme sin tu amor (that of being left without your love) would. Two things are exempt from the trade, and both are small and physical rather than cosmic: Pero el negro de tus ojos que no muera / Y el canela de tu piel se quede igual (But let the black of your eyes not die / And the cinnamon of your skin stay the same). That second line is the title — piel canela, cinnamon skin.

Then the argument stops and the song just repeats a pronoun. Me importas tú, y tú, y tú / Y nadie más que tú (You matter to me, and you, and you / And nobody but you) — tú lands twelve times across those four lines, which is the whole point: after all the accounting with stars and oceans, the only word left is the one that means you. Bobby Capó wrote it, and it has been sung across Latin America ever since; Cepeda takes it unhurried and lets the guitar carry what the lyric has stopped arguing.

“Le Viene Bien” starts small: a woman who gets up beautiful every day and dances to her own song even when it's raining outside. Andrés Cepeda and Greeicy spend the whole song reading her, and what they notice is a rose tattooed on her back that gives away what she actually wants. “Me cuenta que de ganas se muere” (it tells me she's dying with wanting), and the next line finishes the thought plainly: “Por estar otra vez en la playa” (to be at the beach again). The chorus doesn't dress that up, it just states the fix: “Coquito, arena y playa le viene bien” (coconut, sand and beach suit her well), repeated until it sounds less like flattery and more like a diagnosis.

The second half moves from watching her to being with her. “Tienes que saber que andar contigo” (you should know that being with you) followed by “Es como estar eternamente acompañada en libertad” (is like being endlessly accompanied, in freedom) is the song's real argument: company that doesn't cost her the freedom she clearly needs. By the bridge he's stopped describing her and started repeating himself, “Y tú, y tú, y tú, y tú, y tú” (and you, and you, and you, and you, and you), like a man who's lost count of how many times she's crossed his mind, before the song settles back on the coast: “Sabes llegar a ese lugar allí en la orillita del mar” (you know how to get to that place, right there at the edge of the sea), exactly where it started.

In this beautiful and heartbreaking song, Colombian artist Andrés Cepeda uses the metaphor of a flower to tell a story of love and loss. The singer finds a "colorless" flower with "black petals," representing a person who is sad and perhaps damaged from past experiences. He lovingly cares for this person, nurturing them until they finally "bloom" into someone vibrant and beautiful, whose eyes now shine.

Just as he is admiring the beauty he helped create, he learns a painful lesson. He sings that it's not enough to just give your heart, because in this "cruel life," someone else—a "bee" seeking honey—can come and steal your flower away. The song captures the bittersweet feeling of helping someone heal, only to lose them, leaving the singer to conclude that the more beautiful the flower, the more it hurts when it's gone.

Ever been stuck in the friend zone while secretly crushing on someone? That is the exact tension driving "Magia" by Colombian pop artist Andrés Cepeda and Sebastián Yatra. The track opens on a confession long overdue: after countless nights of just being buddies ("Fueron tantas las noches siendo tu amigo" [It was so many nights being your friend]), the narrator can't hold back his feelings anymore. He feels an undeniable spark whenever he looks at her eyes and lips, declaring "Siento magia" [I feel magic]. To him, stumbling into her path feels like fate ("estaba escrito en mi destino" [it was written in my destiny]), and keeping quiet about it is no longer an option.

What makes the song fun is its playful honesty about shifting boundaries. The lyrics flatly state, "Ya está claro niña que no somos amigos" [It is clear, girl, that we are not friends]. They might bicker because their personalities match too well, and an accidental kiss might slip out ("un beso prohibido por error se me sale" [a forbidden kiss slips out by mistake]), but neither of them can pretend the romance isn't real anymore. Cepeda and Yatra channel that giddy, reckless stage of falling in love where denying your feelings just makes you mad ("negarlo me da rabia" [denying it makes me angry]) and you simply want to shout the truth to the world.

"Infinito" is a quiet, patient love song about being second choice and refusing to give up anyway.

The narrator admits there's no proof the two of them are truly together, no public claim on each other, but insists he'll never accept a flat no. He calls out the other person's denial: they can swear they never came looking, never found him again, but their heart will give them away.

The hook turns that imbalance into something hopeful. Whatever small amount of affection he's given feels infinite to him, and he wants more anyway. He compares it to love that evaporates versus love whose warmth stays, trusting that the universe eventually puts everything in its place.

By the bridge he admits he's arriving late to this, but insists it's never too late for real love, closing on the idea that it's better late than never.

Andrés Cepeda builds the whole song out of one question asked over and over: ¿Para qué? — what for? He opens it on something small and physical — «¿Para qué darte un beso que dura un segundo?» ("Why give you a kiss that lasts a second?") — and keeps widening it until the question covers everything the couple still does out of habit. «¿Para qué estrellas con la ventana cerrada?» ("Why stars with the window closed?") turns it outward: the thing is still there, and nothing about them can reach it anymore.

The chorus names the shape of the ending rather than the feeling. «Porque nuestra cometa ya no nos pide cuerda» ("Because our kite doesn't ask for string anymore") — the kite has stopped pulling, so there is nothing left to let out. Then the line that lands hardest in Latin America: «Ser Argentina sin Charly, sin Maradona» ("Be Argentina without Charly, without Maradona") — Charly García and Diego Maradona, a country with its two biggest figures removed and still going through the motions. By the last verse he is at the door with the suitcase already shut, asking for one more kiss precisely because there is no after: «Recordemos lo nuestro aunque no haya un después» ("Let's remember our story even if there's no after").

Andrés Cepeda measures a marriage in the things two people learn to do for each other. The chorus is a list of skills rather than feelings — "Saberte hablar / Saber callar / Saber ser eso que te salva" ("Knowing how to speak to you / Knowing how to be silent / Knowing how to be that which saves you") — and it closes by handing the debt back the other way: "Porque tú a mí también me salvas" ("Because you also save me"). When the chorus comes around a second time that last line changes one word, to "Porque tú a mí también me faltas" ("Because you also are missing from me"), and the substitution carries the whole argument of the song.

The promises are all made for bad weather. "Aquí estaré cuando llegue la tormenta / Cuando casi te arrepientas / Cuando mientas, cuando llores" ("I will be here when the storm arrives / When you almost regret it / When you lie, when you cry") — the lying and the near-regret are listed beside the crying, not excused away. Cepeda keeps time by the same record throughout: seasons change and he is still hearing "la misma canción", "la que bailamos cuando nos casamos" ("the same song", "the one we danced to when we got married"). The last condition he sets is the one that ends everything — "cuando ya no queden más segundos en nuestro reloj" ("when there are no more seconds left on our clock").

Picture a drizzly Sunday morning in Bogotá: rain-soaked leaves, a greasy breakfast plate, pillows still warm, and that bittersweet quiet just after shared laughter — this is the intimate scene where Andrés Cepeda’s “Desesperado” begins, only to shatter it with the sudden exit of a lover. The song follows a narrator who spirals from cozy domesticity into raw obsession, confessing that he scrolls through photos, tracks comments, and maps out every place she might be, all while fully aware that his behavior is unhealthy. Cepeda layers upbeat pop melodies over lyrics that bare a heart roto, dañado, un poco desesperado, painting a relatable portrait of post-breakup desperation: the hunger for answers, the salty sting of rejection, and the relentless hope that the best moment will come back. In just under four minutes, he reminds listeners that love can turn anyone into a detective, a poet, and a fool — sometimes all at once.

"No Sé Querer" is a confession sung right before a farewell. The singer says what he needs to say before the other person walks out, treating this maybe-last night together as a moment of truth rather than a fight.

He looks back on how completely she shaped him. She is the one certainty he has, and admits he learned everything about love through her. Now he faces losing her and worries she'll leave without ever knowing the depth of what he feels.

The title line is the emotional core: after everything, he still doesn't know how to love well, or how to love anyone else the way he loved her. It's a song about gratitude and heartbreak tangled together, not blame.

Have you ever missed someone so much that everything reminds you of them? In "Me Haces Falta," Andrés Cepeda, Fonseca, and Llane explore this deep feeling of longing and regret after a separation. The singer is surrounded by memories, from a rose in the garden to a rainy morning, all bringing back thoughts of a person who is now far away. He is consumed by guilt, admitting, "I know why I lost you," and confesses that the other person was right all along. He feels completely lost without them, declaring, "without you I am nothing."

This isn't just a sad song; it's also a powerful declaration of love and a plea for understanding. The singer expresses a willingness to do anything to get this person back, even "crossing this sea" and having "burned my ships," a metaphor for leaving no way to turn back. Later in the song, there's a shift towards acceptance, acknowledging that life must go on for both of them, even if it hurts. It becomes a search for a lesson in the pain, asking, "Let me know what I have to learn here." Ultimately, the song captures the complex emotions of missing someone deeply: the regret, the desperate love, and the difficult journey toward understanding.

Andrés Cepeda spends this song admitting something he's ashamed of. "Qué difícil es amar" [How hard it is to love], he starts, describing himself betting everything on cards hidden under the table. He's the storm next to her calm, sneaking into her dreams at night to say what he can't say to her awake: "Quisiera colarme entre tus sueños" [I'd like to sneak into your dreams].

The chorus lays out exactly what he did wrong. "Porque tus besos" [Because your kisses], "Los gasté en alguien más" [I wasted them on someone else], he admits, and no apology fixes that. He can't shake her either: "Tus labios nunca lograré dejar atrás" [Your lips I'll never manage to leave behind]. By the end he isn't defending himself anymore, just stating what's underneath all of it: he loves her more than he knows what to do with.

The song opens like a road map rather than a heartbreak. "Encontré un camino que me lleva de mi casa de Guasca hasta Ubaque" ("I found a road that takes me from my house in Guasca all the way to Ubaque"), and from there it keeps naming the villages of the Cundinamarca highlands — Gachetá, Fomeque, Choachí — and the dirt trochas between them. The studio chatter is left in the take, down to someone raising a glass and a warning that "Kiko no ha parado de grabar desde que llegaste" ("Kiko hasn't stopped recording since you showed up"). Then the driving stops and the request arrives: "Quiero que me odies" ("I want you to hate me").

What follows is a plea to be resented rather than forgiven, and it is specific about how. He wants "que tu boca sepa amarga con mi nombre" ("your mouth to taste bitter with my name"), and "que me reconozcas en los besos de otros hombres" ("you to spot me in other men's kisses"). Underneath sits the song's coldest piece of arithmetic: she spent so much love on him that "ya no te alcanza ni siquiera para amarte" ("now it's not even enough for you to love yourself"). Hate is the only thing left he can ask her to keep, and he says why — "Ódiame, y así sabré que no me olvidarás" ("Hate me, that way I'll know you won't forget me").

"Canta Conmigo" ("Sing With Me") is Andrés Cepeda's tribute to the music running through his own veins. He opens by naming every style that shaped him: "Soy una mezcla de sonero, de rasta con bolero, y mariachi con blues" ("I'm a mix of a sonero, of rasta with bolero, and mariachi with blues"), and calls himself a "bohemio, aventurero que se gana el dinero cantando a media luz" ("bohemian, an adventurer who earns his living singing in dim light").

He isn't chasing money — he gives away what he has, line after line: "Solo quiero vivir de la forma que soy, tan solo regalando música y amor" ("I just want to live the way I am, only giving away music and love"), and lets his guitar carry the ache he can't put into words: "Te regalo la piel en cada inspiración que llora mi guitarra" ("I give you my skin in every inspiration that my guitar cries out"). The chorus turns that private confession into an open invitation — everyone gets to join in: "Canta, canta conmigo" ("Sing, sing with me").

"Eres Parte de Todo" is Andrés Cepeda's confession that one person has quietly become inseparable from every ordinary moment of his life. The hook answers its own question with the title line: "Tú eres parte de todo" ("You're part of everything") — not a memory he visits now and then, but something woven into his music, his laughter, "lo grande y lo pequeño de todo" (the big and the small of it all).

The verses build outward from the same idea. "Nunca dejo de pensar en ti" ("I never stop thinking about you") opens the song, and by the bridge he's admitting "Por un beso tuyo me perdí" ("For one of your kisses, I got lost"). It reads less like a typical love song and more like a description of what it feels like when one person takes over everything you do without you noticing it happen.

"Mejor Que A Ti Me Va" is Andres Cepeda's answer to an ex who expected him to fall apart.

He admits the breakup was hard and the pain took time to leave behind, but he never wished his ex any harm. Now he watches them face the consequences of how they treated him, and life, as he puts it, is paying them back. The hook says it plainly: he is doing better than they are.

"El Equivocado" is Andrés Cepeda's confession from a man who knows he's about to break the heart of a partner who has done nothing wrong. He admits he's lied to her many times and isn't the man she deserves, even though he's the one who won her heart in the first place.

He calls her "the right one" whose only flaw is being too perfect for him, while his own flaw is treating her badly. Rather than pretend to change, he tells her not to come looking for him — sooner or later he'll make her cry, so she's better off staying away.

The song's core irony is in its title: he'll keep lying, even claiming he waited his whole life for her, just to seem sincere — because deep down he already knows he's "the wrong one" for her. By the end he's asking her to forget him and erase him from her life, admitting he's run out of the goodwill a person can spend on someone else.

Andrés Cepeda spends the whole song building one long list of things that leave quietly and can't be stopped. He opens with "Como las aves de paso" (Like migratory birds) and "Como se escurre la arena en mis manos" (As sand slips through my hands), nothing violent, just steady loss he can't grip. The chorus turns that list into an argument for accepting it: "Y te dejo ir como se evapora el agua" (And I let you go as water evaporates), "Como va muriendo en el calendario el mes de Abril" (As the month of April dies on the calendar). He's comparing heartbreak to the most ordinary changes in the world, and somehow that's the comfort.

The second verse gets more specific: "Como caen las hojas en los parques de Madrid" (As leaves fall in Madrid's parks) puts the memory somewhere real, and "Como la vida en un pestañazo" (Like life in a blink) admits the whole relationship went by faster than he expected. By the closing "Yo te dejo ir amor, yo te dejo ir" (I let you go, love, I let you go), the repetition stops sounding dramatic. It sounds like someone talking himself into something he still doesn't fully believe.

Lo Que Me Había Olvidado is Andrés Cepeda’s musical wake-up call for a heart that thought it had retired. After a string of heartbreaks, the singer admits he forgot every step of the love playbook: dialing the phone without fear, laughing until it hurts, surrendering his pride to chase a woman. Love had treated him so badly that even butterflies and stolen-kiss adrenaline felt like distant legends.

Everything changes the moment he meets her. One look, and the feelings he had shelved come flooding back—familiar yet brand-new, as if they knew each other “from another life.” Suddenly there are fireworks in his chest, and he is raising a glass to Cupid for proving romance can still surprise him. The chorus is pure celebration: he remembers what he had buried, feels “de todo contigo,” and rediscovers the electrifying joy of loving too much. The song is a vibrant reminder that even the most guarded heart can relearn its favorite language when the right person appears.

In “Para Dar Contigo”, Andrés Cepeda is basically saying: I had to survive a lot of wrong kisses, half-love, and lonely mornings just to finally find you. He talks about “tanto beso que se me quedó en tanta boca sin amor” [so many kisses that stayed with me in so many mouths without love] and “tanto amor se desbordó inútilmente” [so much love overflowed uselessly]. The idea is harsh and a bit funny at the same time: he spent years giving love to people who did not really want it. All those failed attempts, all that “compartir las soledades mutuamente” [sharing loneliness with each other], left him tired and emotionally worn out.

What makes the song feel hopeful is that he believes all that mess was the road to this one person. He says “tuve que empeñar en otros brazos el abrigo” [I had to pawn my coat in other arms] and “al correr dejé pedazos de piel por el camino” [running, I left pieces of skin along the way]. It sounds dramatic, but it is his way of saying love has cost him a lot. He even had to “reinventé la fe que se había perdido” [reinvent the faith that had been lost] so he could still arrive “con algo de amor en los bolsillos” [with some love in my pockets]. By the end, when he sings “y ahora soy feliz, porque di contigo” [and now I am happy, because I found you], it feels like a long, exhausting emotional journey that finally has a calm, real ending instead of “otro fracaso repetido” [another repeated failure].

Andrés Cepeda, a Colombian artist, brings us a song about a difficult goodbye in "Que No He Sido Yo." It's a really honest look at someone who knows they need to end a relationship, even if it's painful. The singer admits, "Quizás será muy tarde ya / Para poder decirte toda la verdad" [Maybe it will be too late now / To be able to tell you all the truth], showing the struggle of holding onto a secret for too long. He'd rather face the pain of losing the person than continue to deceive them, saying, "Prefiero perderte / Antes que engañarte" [I prefer to lose you / Before I deceive you].

What's really interesting is how the song encourages the other person to move on and find happiness, even though the singer is the one leaving. Lines like "No dejes que la vida pase / No dejes que el dolor te alcance" [Don't let life pass by / Don't let the pain reach you] and "Abraza un poco más tus sueños / Y encuéntrale a tu amor un dueño / Que no he sido yo" [Embrace your dreams a little more / And find an owner for your love / That it hasn't been me] show a selfless wish for the other person to find love with someone else. It's a bittersweet farewell, acknowledging the shared solitude that will come with the parting, but also a hope for new beginnings.

Andrés Cepeda, a Colombian artist, brings us "Corre Tiempo" [Run, Time], a song that perfectly captures that desperate feeling when you just want to fast-forward through a painful breakup. He asks the big questions we all wonder: "Dónde va el amor cuando se acaba" [Where does love go when it ends?] and "Quién le pone palabras al dolor que dejó" [Who puts words to the pain it left behind?]. It's all about the sting of lost trust, not just the initial hurt, as he sings, "No te duele el golpe, lo que duele es la confianza que se perdió" [The blow doesn't hurt, what hurts is the trust that was lost].

He's pleading with time itself, "Corre, corre, corre tiempo, Sácame de este momento" [Run, run, run time, Get me out of this moment]. The goal? To see that person again and feel nothing – "y no sentir amor ni sufrimiento" [and not feel love or suffering]. It's a relatable wish for anyone who's been through a tough split, wanting to erase the feelings and move on. He also has a blunt truth: "El que entrega todo al final no tiene nada" [He who gives everything in the end has nothing], which is a tough lesson learned from heartbreak. This song is a raw, honest look at healing and the hope that time really does make things better.

Andrés Cepeda's "Un Ratito" is a really sweet and relatable song about someone who's become so used to being with their partner that they've almost forgotten how to be alone. It's not a sad breakup song, though! It's more about wanting to test the waters and see if they can still stand on their own two feet.

He sings, "Aléjate un poquito a ver / Qué pasa cuando estas / A más de 3 pasitos de mi piel" [Move away a little to see / What happens when you are / More than 3 little steps from my skin], suggesting a gentle experiment. He even proposes a funny little test: "Probemos tú ve por leche, yo por pan / Pero encontrémonos en la mitad" [Let's try, you go for milk, I'll go for bread / But let's meet in the middle]. He admits he's become a "sombra fiel" [faithful shadow] and needs to remember who he is without them. He wants to learn to live "Un ratito sin tu compañía" [A little while without your company], just to prove to himself that he can. It's a charming look at rediscovering independence within a relationship.

Andrés Cepeda, a fantastic artist from Colombia, brings us "Siempre Estás Tú," a song that really gets into the everyday struggles and how one special person makes it all better. He talks about the constant back and forth, like "Entre lo que digo y lo que pienso" [Between what I say and what I think] and "Entre lo que hago y lo que deseo" [Between what I do and what I want]. It's all about those little risks we take as we grow, even through bad days and good ones.

What I love is how he describes all the chaos of life: "Entre tanta incertidumbre y noticieros" [Between so much uncertainty and news reports], and even the stress of "El fin de mes y corto de dinero" [The end of the month and short on money]. But no matter what, through all the frustrations and an uncertain future, there's always that one person: "Siempre estás tú cuando más lo necesito" [You are always there when I need you most]. It's such a sweet and relatable feeling, knowing someone is always there to spoil you a little, even "cuando sufro, cuando río" [when I suffer, when I laugh]. It's a beautiful reminder that amidst all of life's ups and downs, having that constant support is everything.