“Peor Para El Sol” is a cheeky, bohemian postcard from the nightlife of Madrid. Sabina paints the scene of two restless souls who would rather chase moonlight than settle for daytime routines. The narrator meets a daring woman who collects new names every night, craves danger, and invites champagne-soaked mischief. Together they dive into an apartment-building elevator, shatter her wedding photo for an improvised mirror, and exhaust every drop of desire before dawn. The sun, the song insists, is the real loser here; it goes to sleep while these lovers lift the moon’s skirt and refuse to feel guilty about it.
Beneath the playful rhymes and bar-room banter lies a bittersweet warning. The woman reminds her partner not to fall in love, because this is a one-night carnival, not a fairy tale. Sabina explores the thrill and emptiness of instant passion—a celebration of freedom that also hints at loneliness when the barstool is empty the next night. It is a toast to living fast, laughing loud, and accepting the price of never belonging to the daylight.