Dictador is the Spanish word for "dictator", a ruler with total power. It's a shocking and unusual word to find in a pop song about a breakup, making it instantly memorable.
In the lyrics, the singer uses it as a powerful metaphor to describe his past self. He sings, "Fui dictador y el no dejarte ir debió haber sido mi primer decreto" (I was a dictator, and not letting you go should have been my first decree). This dramatic confession paints a vivid picture of how controlling he was, expressing the depth of his regret.
Imagine finally making peace with an ex leaving, only to have them knock on your door years later. That sudden panic drives "Cómo Te Atreves" by the Colombian band Morat. The narrator spent four long years without seeing their face, counting out "tres postales y un bolero" [three postcards and a bolero ballad] while nursing a broken heart. Solitude was treating him fine, but their sudden reappearance ruins everything. He confronts them directly with the central question: "¿Cómo te atreves a volver a darle vida a lo que estaba muerto?" [How dare you come back to give life to what was dead?].
There is a petty, funny honesty running through these lines. He complains that while it took them only two months to move on, they couldn't spare a single thought for him even once every leap year: "Y ni siquiera me pensaste un 29 de febrero" [And you didn't even think of me on February 29th]. Streets whisper that this ex is only loyal to the wind, but the real trouble is his own self-betrayal. The minute they walk back in, his defensive front crumbles completely: "Hoy mis mentiras veo caer, que no es verdad que te olvidé" [Today I watch my lies fall down, that it's not true that I forgot you]. It turns out his heart can survive without beating, but it definitely cannot survive seeing them again.