Saturno is the Spanish word for the planet Saturn. But in this song, it represents something much more profound and heartbreaking.
Alborán uses it as a metaphor for a place where lost dreams reside, singing "En Saturno viven los hijos que nunca tuvimos" (In Saturn live the children we never had). This beautiful, cosmic imagery elevates a simple planet name into a symbol for a future that never came to be, making it an incredibly powerful and memorable word to learn.
Ever had a breakup mess with your sleep? Spanish singer Pablo Alborán takes that late-night spinning to space. He starts right in the bedroom with "Vuelves en cada sueño que tengo" ("You return in every dream I have") and notes that "la almohada no suele mentir" ("the pillow doesn't usually lie"). The track is blunt about post-split resentment. He admits, "Yo no quería amarte, tú me enseñaste a odiarte" ("I didn't want to love you, you taught me to hate you"), which hurts, but you know that bitter mood after someone trashes the pieces of your soul you gave them: "Darte de mi alma lo que tú echaste a perder" ("To give you from my soul what you ruined").
The hook launches every unfulfilled promise right out of Earth's atmosphere. He imagines an alternate solar system holding everything they ruined: "En Saturno viven los hijos que nunca tuvimos" ("On Saturn live the children we never had"). Meanwhile, "En Plutón aún se oyen gritos de amor" ("On Pluto, cries of love are still heard") and on the Moon, their voices echo asking for apologies they were too stubborn to offer down here ("Pidiendo perdón, cosa que nunca pudimos hacer"). Scattering your lost potential across freezing planets is an intense way to cope with being stubborn, but it makes the ache feel huge.