Learn Spanish With Mon Laferte with these 21 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)
Mi Buen Amor is an anthem for anyone who has ever been stuck in the never-ending loop of a yo-yo relationship. Mon Laferte, joined by Spanish rock legend Enrique Bunbury, tells the story of a lover who keeps walking away only to come back begging for one more chance. The narrator has finally had enough. She calls out the empty promises, the emotional games, and the false hope, declaring that she will not wait around anymore.
What makes the song so compelling is its mix of vulnerability and strength. We hear about failed therapies, rebound romances, and the mountain of lies she had to climb over, yet the chorus shines with self-respect: If you will not return, why come looking for me again? The repeated phrase mi buen amor feels almost sarcastic, highlighting how the once-sweet love has soured. In the end, the song celebrates the power of setting boundaries and choosing self-love over recycled heartbreak.
Get ready for a tidal wave of emotions! “Tu Falta De Querer” is Mon Laferte’s raw, pop-rock confession of a love that ended without warning. The Chilean-Mexican singer paints the scene of returning to a shared bed, only to find the room still filled with memories—and silence. Each line exposes her heartbreak: she still loves deeply, yet the other person’s indifference (“tu tanta falta de querer”) cuts like poison ivy that blinds and stings.
Instead of quietly nursing her wounds, Mon Laferte turns the pain into an anthem. She pleads for answers, relives sweet moments that now feel bitter, and even flirts with the idea of sleeping forever just to escape the ache. The song’s soaring vocals and dramatic guitar riffs mirror that inner storm where love, anger, and vulnerability collide. By the final chorus, you can almost feel both her despair and her fierce resolve to survive, making this track a cathartic sing-along for anyone who has ever wondered, “How did you stop loving me while I was still holding on?”
Heartbreak has rarely sounded as fierce and theatrical as in 'Tu Falta De Querer (Live)'. Chilean–Mexican rocker Mon Laferte turns a simple bedroom scene, coming back to the bed she once shared while the same mischievous cats roam around, into a volcanic confession. Backed by a pop-rock storm, she relives the moment her partner’s love evaporated, letting poisonous ivy climb over every memory.
Mon begs for answers: 'Ven y cuéntame la verdad' (Come and tell me the truth), desperate to understand how he stopped loving her. She still loves him “even more than yesterday,” yet the emptiness crushes her so deeply that she dreams of sleeping forever just to escape the bitterness. The live performance magnifies each sob, whisper, and wail, creating a raw portrait of heartbreak, obsession, and the need to know why love can simply disappear.
Amor Completo is Mon Laferte’s unapologetic celebration of a love so intense that it explodes in color, sensation, and desire. In the opening lines she marvels at the magic of a first kiss and the rush of emotions that follows. The lyrics describe love as a multi-sensory fireworks show where every touch, every thought, makes her “estallar” (burst). She invites her partner to build a “gran nido” (big nest) in her universe, promising total vulnerability and freedom: “Puedes hacer lo que quieras conmigo.” The repeated commands—“Arrúllame, ahógame, aplástame”—paint a picture of someone willing to be completely overwhelmed by affection, craving closeness that blurs the line between physical and emotional connection.
Yet the song is not just about intoxicating proximity. When distance creeps in (“Pero el estar tan lejos no es fácil”), she admits the ache of separation while affirming that their bond remains powerful enough for her lover to still shape her world. By labeling the relationship “amor inquieto, amor drogado, amor completo,” Laferte captures all its contradictions: restless yet grounding, addictive yet wholesome, chaotic yet whole. Ultimately, the song is a poetic ode to surrendering to love in its fullest form, embracing its highs, lows, and everything in between.
Imagine waking up after a night of shared secrets, the sheets still warm, and a favorite song floating up to the ceiling. “Primaveral” captures that exact moment when love feels brand-new, fragile, and thrillingly honest. Mon Laferte sings from the floor of her bedroom, marveling at how easily her partner has set their armor aside and how every ordinary detail — brewing tea, strumming a guitar, even boredom — suddenly glows under the same sun. The lyrics paint springtime not as a season of flowers but as a state of mind where doubt, bliss, and vulnerability bloom all at once.
At the heart of the song lies a candid confession: “Soy inestable, pero sabes que te amo.” Mon admits her emotional ups and downs yet finds comfort in a love that remains “tan real.” That sincerity is what makes the track so relatable. It is a celebration of messy humanity, daring to ask whether this intimacy is real or madness while ultimately declaring that it is the best thing that has ever happened. “Primaveral” is your soundtrack for those mornings when the world feels both unpredictable and perfect — a reminder that even in our most chaotic states, true affection can turn every day into a spring day.
“Otra Noche De Llorar” wraps heartbreak in twinkling Christmas lights. Mon Laferte paints the scene of a lonely December where every small ritual—skipping meals, chain-smoking, counting down to the holidays—reminds the narrator that her lover is spending the season with someone else. Caught between reason and emotion, she keeps asking what life would feel like if she finally got over him, yet every night ends the same: more tears, another failed goodbye, and the bittersweet ring of a phone call cut short because “she must be by your side.”
The song captures that in-between stage of a breakup when you know the relationship is over but your heart refuses to follow your head. Christmas heightens the nostalgia, turning memories into ornaments that hurt to touch. Mon’s soulful delivery makes the struggle feel intimate and universal at once: it is a story of clinging to love that cannot last, recognizing the need to let go, and facing the cold comfort that tomorrow might be just “otra noche de llorar” until healing finally arrives.
Paisaje Japonés paints a vivid scene of inner peace blooming right next to heartbreak. While Mon Laferte sips mint tea and watches an ever-blossoming Japanese garden from her window, she firmly closes the door on a toxic relationship. Each petal that opens outside mirrors a new layer of self-care inside: she chooses silence over shouting, calm over chaos, and her own company over someone who once made her feel small.
The lyrics glide between gentle imagery and blunt resolve. Rain falls, a fountain turns, and his clothes still hang in the room, yet the real weather change happens in her heart, where she realizes she has “nothing left to lose.” The song is both a soft meditation and a bold goodbye, inviting listeners to see that healing can be as patient and beautiful as a garden that flowers one day at a time.
Que Se Sepa Nuestro Amor is a joyful declaration of love that simply refuses to stay hidden. Mon Laferte and Alejandro Fernández trade verses like secret whispers that have grown too powerful: their hearts race, they lose track of time, and even their friends notice the glow. The singers feel blessed to have found each other, and the thrill is so intense that focusing on everyday life becomes impossible.
Rather than hush those feelings, they decide to broadcast them loud and clear. The chorus is a rallying cry: "Nada me importa, la gente… que se sepa nuestro amor" (I don’t care what people say… the world needs to know our love). It is a bold, mariachi-flavored promise to shout their passion from the rooftops, inviting listeners to celebrate love openly, proudly, and without fear.
Feel the tug of war between heartbreak and rhythm! In Cumbia Para Olvidar Mon Laferte wraps raw sadness inside the bright, hip–swaying beat of a classic cumbia. The singer has tried to leave her lover behind, yet the days keep slipping by while she is stuck replaying conversations and tearing words apart, desperate to reach the core of someone who stays out of emotional reach. Every night ends the same way: crying in bed, haunted by a scar that refuses to close.
But there is a lifeline. She begs the cumbia itself to rescue her – the steady percussion, the warm trombone line, the invitation to dance. If she can move, maybe she can forgive, or at least forget for a song or two. This track celebrates music as medicine: a dance floor confessional where swirling melodies help rinse away pain even when the heart is not ready to let go. Turn it up, sway along, and feel how rhythm can lift even the heaviest memories.
Chilango Blues drops us onto the smoky, neon-lit streets of Mexico City, where heartbreak tastes like pills and cigarettes and love feels as cheap as a pay-by-the-hour motel. Mon Laferte sings to the moon itself, begging it to tell her ex she has already moved on, even if that means blasting off to Mars and dancing with aliens who can handle his chaos. Cosmic exaggerations—planets exploding, the sky bleeding—paint just how dramatic a breakup can feel when the night is loud, lonely, and full of blues.
Yet beneath the raw pain there is defiance. Democracy at home is over, a “monster” now rules the terrace, and the best remedy is to let the music flow. By choosing to sway to this bewitching blues instead of drowning in tears, the singer reclaims her power, hinting that sometimes the only way to kill heartache is to let the blues itself die. Get ready for a bittersweet ride where sorrow, sarcasm, and swagger share the same dance floor.
What happens when someone tries to trade in a love that felt one-of-a-kind? In “Invéntame,” Mon Laferte slips into the voice of a heartbroken narrator watching an ex reinvent their life. Clothes have changed, smiles are offered to someone new, and rumors swirl that the old flame is thriving. Instead of begging for another chance, the singer throws down a daring challenge: “Go ahead, invent me. Make them love you the way I did.” It is equal parts sorrow and swagger, a lyrical eye-roll that says, “Good luck finding my magic in anybody else.”
Wrapped in Mon Laferte’s smoky vocals, the song mixes vulnerability with biting irony. Every line reminds the listener that genuine connection cannot be manufactured on command. The repeated plea to “invéntame” isn’t a request; it is a reminder that some emotions, memories, and electric touches are impossible to duplicate. By the final chorus, we feel both the sting of loss and the quiet victory of knowing that some loves remain unmatched, no matter how hard anyone tries to copy-and-paste them.
Mon Laferte and Juanes plunge us into a deliciously dizzying game of push and pull. In “Amárrame” the speaker craves a romance that is equal parts tenderness and mischief: "Love me little by little… but make it seem like you’re hurting me." She begs to be tied up, cured, driven crazy, and infected with desire all at once, turning love into an almost theatrical dance of contradictions. The playful commands—kiss me, ignore me, call me but don’t speak—paint a portrait of someone who enjoys flirting with the edges of passion, testing how far seduction can go before it snaps.
At its core, the song celebrates the thrill of emotional tension. It invites listeners to feel the electricity of being wanted and resisted simultaneously, channeling the addictive rush of a relationship where boundaries blur and roles reverse. Mon Laferte’s fiery vocals paired with Juanes’s smooth warmth make every line feel like a tug on the heartstrings, reminding us that sometimes the most unforgettable love stories are the ones that leave us breathless, bound, and begging for just a little more.
Mon Laferte transforms a simple promise – “Te juro que volveré” (I swear I’ll come back) – into a cinematic tale of courage and heartbreak. The song follows a 17-year-old girl who has already survived drugs, rain-soaked streets and a “hard past.” At 24 she packs a suitcase, crosses a border and vows to buy her mother a house. Every chorus is her hopeful postcard home: “Volveré” – I will return.
Eight years of undocumented grind later, music finally pays her first big check. She wins at life, yet destiny plays a cruel twist: her mother passes away before seeing the dream come true. The final refrains slip from certainty to doubt – “No sé si volveré” (I don’t know if I will return) – capturing the bittersweet reality of many migrants who chase success abroad. Mon Laferte’s story is a vibrant lesson on perseverance, sacrifice and the emotional cost of leaving home to build a better future.
Mon Laferte’s “Si Tú Me Quisieras” is a raw confession booth in song form. The Chilean-Mexican singer pours out the frustration of loving someone who does not love her back. She admits she pretended to say goodbye, tried to erase memories, stuffed her days with distractions, and even sought help from a psychiatrist – yet the thought of calling that person never leaves. Every heartbeat feels like a trigger that "shoots" love through her body, a feeling that spreads, demands, and hurts all at once.
Underneath the dramatic imagery is a simple wish: “Everything would be different if you loved me.” Mon Laferte compares this unreturned love to a bullet lodged in her – it chokes and almost “kills,” but she still imagines dropping therapy, weaving stories with the person’s black hair, and sharing a life together. The song is a bittersweet anthem for anyone who has battled stubborn, obsessive love, capturing both the humor of her own “complicated” nature and the agony of wanting what feels just out of reach.
Antes De Ti is Mon Laferte’s heartfelt confession of what life felt like before and after meeting a life-changing love. In the first half of the song, she paints a cinematic picture of loneliness: “I walked between life and death… I got used to pain.” Each tear, each failed romance, and each dark night on the “far side of the moon” shows a woman who believed love was simply not written in the stars for her.
Everything shifts when you arrive. Suddenly, she feels transparent, free, and brave enough to leave every storm behind. The chorus repeats “Yo no conocía el amor” to highlight the contrast between a past filled with emptiness and a present bursting with hope. Think of it as a before-and-after photo of the heart: grayscale solitude turning into vivid color the moment real love steps in.
Por Qué Me Fui A Enamorar De Ti wraps Mon Laferte’s unmistakable drama and Latin flair into a tale of love that was doomed from the start. In just a handful of verses she pleads for five more minutes, confesses her “enfermedad” of longing, and tries to devour her lover’s heart before they slip away. The Chilean-Mexican artist paints forbidden romance like an addictive flavor you know is bad for you but still crave, mixing raw vocals with lyrics that bounce between desire and despair.
The song’s core question – Why did I fall in love if I knew it was forbidden? – echoes throughout. Mon weighs the thrill of secrecy against the pain it causes, admitting both lovers are guilty of giving in. She feels herself turning into a shadow, yet the allure of the clandestine keeps pulling her back. In the end she recognizes that, rules aside, their connection is undeniably real. It is a bittersweet anthem for anyone who has ever tasted off-limits passion and discovered that breaking the rules can hurt just as intensely as it excites.
Canción De Mierda is Mon Laferte’s tongue-in-cheek way of turning heartbreak into art. While she sarcastically calls it a “shitty song,” the lyrics reveal a clever mix of domestic routine (washing dishes), dark humor (dancing tango with a gun), and raw fury. She sings about an ex who will never understand her pain—highlighted in the biting line “Tú, qué vas a saber / Si tú no sangras una vez al mes.” By pointing to menstruation as a symbol of embodied suffering, Mon Laferte underlines the gap between their experiences and asserts a distinctly feminine perspective.
Amid the sarcasm and anger, the chorus repeats “Sobrevivir” (to survive), turning the song into an anthem of resilience. Instead of wishing her ex harm, she trusts karma to do the work, choosing music as her weapon. The simple melody she promises to “stab” him with becomes a cathartic release—proof that even in the depths of sorrow, creativity and humor can keep us dancing on the edge of the abyss.
“El Beso” is Mon Laferte’s playful but feverish ode to the infinite language of kissing. From the moment she wakes up, the Chilean-Mexican singer catalogs a whole buffet of kisses—mojado, lento, tierno, arrebatao’, mordido, chupeteao’. Each variation paints a different shade of desire, showing how a single act can be tender, dangerous, comforting, or downright wild. The chorus’s urgent “¡Bésame!” turns the song into a sensual countdown, as if every kiss might be the last spark before goodbye.
Beneath the seduction hides vulnerability. Mon Laferte asks for “un último beso” that will drown her heartbreak and prove that the love once shared still burns. By mixing swagger (“contacto a lo mafioso”) with raw confession (“este tonto corazón que llora”), she reminds us that passion and pain often share the same stage. The result is a vibrant, theatrical plea for connection—one kiss at a time.
“Caderas Blancas” is Mon Laferte’s invitation to shut the door on the past and dive head-first into a perfect present. Over a slow-burning groove, the Chilean-Mexican singer paints an intimate scene: two lovers sitting close, hands intertwined, sharing a moment so intense it feels like life itself has clicked into place. By choosing not to “talk about the past,” she clears the stage for raw emotion, eye-to-eye honesty, and the thrill of a brand-new beginning.
The chorus turns that spark into a wildfire. Laferte celebrates surrender—offering her “caderas blancas,” her kisses, even the space between each breath—because there is “nothing left to lose.” Desire swirls with poetry as she asks to be taken to her partner’s universe where words weave into verse and memories are born. In the end, the song is a sensual ode to trusting love’s turbulence: by giving everything—body, voice, and soul—she discovers that every risk “valió la pena,” it was worth it all.
Mon Laferte lights a musical match with “Se Me Va A Quemar El Corazón,” painting the raw feeling of a love that scorches more than it soothes. The lyrics follow a narrator whose heart feels ready to burst, poisoned by memories of a fleeting motel rendezvous. She grapples with the tug-of-war between desire and self-preservation, begging for a “recipe” to keep still while admitting she misses her ex “more than ever.” The repeated image of a burning heart turns into a visceral symbol for lingering passion that hurts as much as it heats.
As the song unfolds, the Chilean-Mexican singer flips between tenderness and fury, calling her former lover an “emotional butcher” and declaring, “I hate you more than ever.” This push-and-pull captures the chaos of toxic attraction: blocking and unblocking, loving and loathing, wanting to forget yet reliving every detail. By the time the final goodbye arrives, Mon Laferte’s voice delivers a cathartic release. Listeners are left with an anthem for anyone who has wrestled with a love that leaves scars, reminding us that sometimes the only cure for a burning heart is to walk away before it turns to ashes.
Plata Ta Tá is a rebellious party anthem where Mon Laferte and Guaynaa turn the dance floor into a protest march. The repeated plata-ta-tá mimics both the clatter of coins and the crack of gunfire, calling out politicians, businessmen in ties, and anyone who puts profits over people. Over a contagious mix of cumbia and reggaetón, they shout that the same elites always want more money while ordinary folks survive on rice and beans, sell clandestine weed to cover pensions, and dance even in the trash. The song was born in the heat of Chile’s 2019 demonstrations, so every witty rhyme doubles as a demand for social justice, feminist rights, and respect for Indigenous Mapuche communities.
Far from hopeless, the lyrics celebrate collective power: smartphones become louder than megaphones, green scarves wave for reproductive freedom, and bras get tossed aside in fearless unity. Mon Laferte declares she will do what she wants with or without cash, while Guaynaa promises to keep both feet on the ground and fight until “the world listens.” In short, this track invites you to perrear while you protest, proving that rhythm, humor, and courage can shake up any system obsessed with plata.