In Pastillas Para No Soñar — literally Pills to Stop Dreaming — Joaquín Sabina plays the role of a sarcastic life-coach who promises you will reach 100 years old if you follow his absurdly cautious rulebook: skip booze, dodge romance, pump iron at dawn, use hair gel so freedom’s breeze never ruffles you, disinfect every caress, and let television season your loveless nights. Line after line, he piles on health tips that sound more like prison regulations, turning the song into a witty parody of society’s obsession with safety and control.
The real punchline arrives in the chorus: “¿Venden pastillas para no soñar?” Sabina knows there is no such medicine, because dreaming — falling in love, taking risks, courting danger — is what makes life worth the wrinkles. By presenting a manual for eternal but empty existence, he invites us to do the opposite: embrace spontaneity, accept heartbreak, break a sweat dancing rather than at the gym, and live intensely even if it shortens the ride. The song is a mischievous toast to reckless passion over sterile longevity.