Learn Spanish With Morat with these 23 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)
Yo Contigo, Tú Conmigo bursts with the electric feeling of meeting someone who seems instantly familiar - as if destiny itself has been waiting to make the introduction. From the opening “¿Por qué, por qué, por qué?” the singers wonder why they feel the other person’s presence everywhere: in the mirror, in their own voice, even when they stand alone. The chorus flips that curiosity into confidence. Side by side, they promise to shout to the sky, rewrite any story, and turn the whole world upside-down if that is what it takes to stay together.
At its heart, this pop anthem is a rallying cry for partnership. Morat and Álvaro Soler celebrate the unbeatable strength that comes from unity – two voices fusing into one fearless force. No matter the obstacles (wind, oceans, or a silencing crowd), the pair vows to push forward, louder and stronger. The playful “gon gon goro gon gon” hook drives home the joy of the connection, turning their pledge into an unforgettable chant. In short, the song is pure optimism: you with me, me with you, and nothing is impossible.
“No Se Va” turns heartsick longing into an irresistible folk-pop sing-along. The Colombian band Morat paints the picture of someone who falls in love easily yet struggles terribly to forget. The title means “It doesn’t leave,” and that stubborn presence is the ex-lover’s memory, still flashing in photos, phone calls never answered, and daydreams that stretch “from Bogotá to Buenos Aires.”
With upbeat guitars and hand-claps laced through bittersweet lyrics, the song balances hope and heartache. Every emphatic “Quédate” (“Stay”) shows the narrator’s refusal to let go, convinced that “un amor así no se olvida” (“a love like this is never forgotten”). Even as he vows to “train his broken heart” for a chance encounter tomorrow, the refrain circles back to the same truth: the memory may hurt, but it simply no se va — it will not go away.
Faltas Tú is Morat’s bittersweet postcard from the edge of a breakup. With playful comparisons—“a galaxy without stars,” “a shoe without its sock”—the Colombian pop band paints how utterly incomplete life feels when that special someone is gone. Every party is pointless, every street sounds empty, and even the simplest outing “tastes like nothing” because her absence has turned the singer into “a zero on the left,” an expression in Spanish for feeling useless.
Yet beneath the self-deprecating humor and raw frustration, there’s stubborn hope. He keeps most of her messages, refuses to be “the loser who doesn’t insist,” and clings to the belief that she is “one in a million” who will eventually return. The song swings between resignation and resolve, capturing heartbreak’s exhausting loop: missing, remembering, resisting, and—above all—waiting for the day when she’s back and life can finally run at 100 percent again.
In Cuando Nadie Ve, Colombian folk-pop group Morat turns clandestine longing into a sunny yet heartbreaking anthem. One moment the singer basks in an endless summer, melted by a single look; the next, that warmth freezes into winter when he discovers someone else waiting in her arms. The melody keeps things light and catchy, but the words reveal a tug-of-war between hope and cold reality.
The story is all about a love that must stay undercover. In public, the pair wear friendly masks — "fingir que somos amigos" — while their hearts race in secret. They rehearse excuses for nosy friends, dodge the stray bullets of gossip, and promise to give everything once the world looks away. It is a dance of fire and ice, a bittersweet celebration of those stolen moments when nobody is watching, wrapped in rhythms that invite you to sing, sway, and sharpen your Spanish at the same time.
Imagine squeezing every sunset, kiss, and secret into the tiniest slice of time. "Por Si No Te Vuelvo A Ver" is Morat’s heartfelt reminder that love is not about how long it lasts, but how fully we live it while it’s here. Over pop rhythms and warm Colombian storytelling, the lyrics picture two travelers in Andalusia who already feel autumn’s chill creeping in. They know their paths may split when September comes, yet they decide to celebrate every remaining moment, refusing to leave a single story untold.
Morat sings about pausing the clock, sharing every stolen dawn, and freezing memories “frente al mar” so that distance, even as far as Neptune, can never erase them. It is a joyful, slightly melancholic anthem that invites us to love boldly, speak openly, and kiss freely – just in case we never get the chance again.
Aprender A Quererte is a heartfelt confession where Morat paints love as an exciting class you never want to skip. From the very first glance, the singer feels a mix of fear and madness, convinced that losing this person would mean losing the greatest treasure. He admits he knows nothing about their past, yet he is ready to pick up his pen—spelling mistakes and all—to study every detail, read every dream, and learn how to love them the way they deserve.
Throughout the song, Morat promises a relationship full of “more additions than subtractions,” where there are no unanswered questions, only solutions shared together. It is a pledge to invest time, honesty, and patience so that both partners not only love each other, but also miss each other in the healthiest way. In short, the track turns romance into a beautiful lifelong syllabus: understand their dreams, write honest lyrics, and stay by their side without rest.
Otras Se Pierden is Morat’s melodic diary of a heartbreak, narrated like a countdown to recovery. The verses walk us through the first cinco días of raw hope, the brave promise made on day six, and the endless nights when even returning her clothes or burning old love notes cannot silence the urge to call. Each image is vivid: glasses of liquor that beg you not to dial, months that feel like whole lifetimes, arrows looking for a heart that is no longer there.
The chorus flips the pain into wisdom. Love is pictured as a rule-free game and a battlefield at once: sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Sleepless nights become training sessions that sharpen resilience, and although there are no shortcuts to forgetting, time patiently gathers the broken pieces until the flame finally fades. The song ends with relief rather than regret, reminding us that nobody dies from trying to move on and that a single future kiss can finish extinguishing the past. Morat turns heartbreak into an anthem of survival and growth, perfect fuel for both the ears and the English-learning heart.
In De Cero, Colombian band Morat sings about that awkward limbo after a breakup when both people know they are better apart yet secretly hope for a sequel. The narrator admits that they once hurt each other and now only feel "allowed" to talk on birthdays, but deep inside they believe their shared history is an unbeatable advantage. Why start over with someone new when you already speak your ex’s love language? He proudly calls himself an "expert" at reading her moods—he knows the perfect moment for a kiss or when to swap it for a hug.
The song’s bittersweet charm lies in its mix of realism and optimism. Morat recognizes that moving on is healthy, but also confesses a wish: if they ever cross paths again, they will not have to begin "from zero." The only real fear is being forgotten. Until then, the singer keeps faith that love—and perhaps a little help from the heavens—will grant them another chance to pick up right where the last chorus faded out.
506 invites us to pick up the phone to the past. Morat and Juanes spin the story of a late-night call to an old sweetheart who once lived in apartment 506. Instantly, memories flood back: scribbling phone numbers on paper, lazy afternoons glued to a TV that no one was watching, and the electric rush of first love at sixteen. The narrator dials almost by instinct, hoping to hear a familiar voice and to check if anything has truly changed. As the ringtone echoes, he lists the tiny details that used to define her—summer trips to Cartagena, a fear of flying—proving that love may fade, but memories keep perfect score.
Yet the song is not simply a nostalgic postcard; it is a confession of vulnerability. The moment she answers, the reasons for the breakup vanish from his mind. All that matters is the warmth of her “Hello” and the reminder of why they once believed love could last forever. “506” balances wistful longing with a playful, folk-pop bounce, making listeners sway while reflecting on those people we never quite stop caring about, no matter how many songs—or years—hide them away.
"Sin Ti" throws us into that all-too-familiar post-breakup performance where we swear we are totally over our ex… while clinging to every memory. Morat and Jay Wheeler give voice to a heart that has turned self-deception into a full-time job: deleting photos, memorizing excuses, even convincing itself that being “better off drunk” is a victory. Each line mixes swagger with confession, showing how denial becomes a survival tool when love feels lethal.
Beneath the bravado lies a raw truth: pretending not to hurt can hurt even more. The song reveals the tug-of-war between the stories we tell others and the feelings we still hide from ourselves, reminding us that sometimes you have to fake forgetting before you can really let go. Listeners ride a bittersweet wave of catchy rhythms and vulnerable lyrics that prove the hardest person to convince you are fine is… you.
Ready to march into the battlefield of love? In Besos en Guerra, Colombian folk-pop sensations Morat link up with iconic rocker Juanes to turn heartbreak into an epic adventure. The title means “Kisses in War”, and from the opening line the singers reject the idea that love can be forgotten easily. Romance becomes a combat zone filled with irresistible kisses that can both heal and destroy, while the bright guitars and pounding drums echo the rhythm of marching feet.
Lyrically, the song follows someone who knows perfectly well that their lover’s kisses are lethal, yet still dives back into the fray. Promises sting, forgiveness is off the table, and every embrace steals another heartbeat. Even so, the narrator vows to win the war, insisting that dying of love is better than living without it. Playful, bittersweet, and proudly dramatic, the track reminds us that true passion often comes with battle scars—and that sometimes we choose to lose just to feel alive.
Amor Con Hielo paints the scene of a breakup where one person jumps ship first, certain the relationship is sinking. The narrator stays behind trying to “freeze” the romance so it can be rescued later, but the cold treatment only finishes it off. In playful yet poignant lines, Morat lists the little memories that used to sting—like the ex’s dog or their last train-station goodbye—then proudly admits he can’t even recall them anymore. The so-called emotional “debt” the ex keeps demanding has already been paid in full by time and a new stolen kiss.
At its heart, the song is a folk-pop reminder that love and war share a rule: whoever strikes first does not always win. Morat turns post-breakup bitterness into a catchy anthem about letting go, melting the ice around old wounds, and realizing that moving on is the sweetest victory of all.
"En Un Sólo Día" drops us into a cozy, time-worn bar where a shy protagonist musters the courage to say “Would you like to dance?”. The moment their hands meet, the room fills with the swirl of bachata, merengue, and classic boleros. Between whispered conversation and playful bumps of their bodies, Cupid quietly draws his bow, turning an ordinary night into a heart-pounding adventure on the dance floor. The vibrant Latin rhythms mirror the rush of discovering someone who instantly feels familiar.
When the music fades and the dancers part ways, the real surprise hits: in just one day and a single dance, he already misses her as if they had shared a lifetime. The song captures that magical instant where emotion overrules logic, routine, and every “rule” about taking things slow. It celebrates love-at-first-sight, reminding us that sometimes all it takes is a spark, a song, and a dance to feel completely, wonderfully hooked.
Morat's "Llamada Perdida" turns a simple missed call into a flood of emotions. The singer walks through rainy streets and sleepless dawns, fighting the stubborn memory of a love that still stings. Every detail, from the same hotel door to the familiar barstool and the photos on his phone, reminds him that moving on is harder than he expected.
Instead of surrendering, he clings to hope with a bittersweet resolve: he'd rather rack up five missed calls, four letters, and three fresh wounds than live a lifetime without seeing his former love again. The song captures that universal moment when heartbreak mixes with determination, when pain, nostalgia, and a dash of self-mocking humor push us to dial one more time and pray that, come morning, the other person finally answers.
Santa Fe turns a breakup into a nail-biting soccer match. The night his girlfriend walks away, Morat’s beloved team Santa Fe also loses to arch-rivals Millonarios, so heartbreak and defeat get stamped on the same calendar date. Every verse uses stadium imagery: he reviews her call in the VAR, feels out of place when she scores on him, and refuses to step back on the pitch for fear of another injury. Shots of liquor become penalty kicks, and the empty trophy case mirrors the emptiness she left behind.
Beneath the clever sports talk lies a simple truth: he still cannot move on. Months later he spots her on a corner of the city, happily teamed up with someone else, and realizes his season is far from over. Until a new “championship” begins, he is stuck replaying that painful match, hoping the whistle will finally blow on the void she created.
Ready for a love sequel? In "Punto Y Aparte", Colombian band Morat turns heartbreak into a cliff-hanger. The narrator meets an old flame after months of regret, carrying the weight of every unsent letter and every tear caused by his departure. Now that fate has brought them face-to-face, he is determined to press pause on the past and start a brand-new paragraph of their story. The title literally means “period and apart”, the Spanish way of saying new paragraph—perfect for a song about wiping the slate clean.
Morat mixes raw confession with fiery promises: he owns up to “el tiempo perdido” (the time lost), vows never to let go of her hands, and is even willing to put his own in the fire if that is what it takes. The chorus feels like an emotional sprint, fueled by lines such as “yo nunca me cansé de amarte” (I never got tired of loving you). Every verse shouts that second chances are worth the risk, no matter how much the ashes might sting. By the end, you can almost hear the suitcase hit the floor and the pen scratch out a fresh chapter—punto y aparte, let the next sentence of their love begin!
Imagine a break-up so raw that the person who caused the hurt begs not to be given a second chance. In "Yo No Merezco Volver," Colombian band Morat flips the usual love-song script: instead of pleading for forgiveness, the narrator demands to be erased. He asks his ex to burn photos, close doors, and even silence his name, because his own guilt is louder than any apology. The chorus drives home a powerful confession: "No intentes perdonarme… yo no merezco volver" ("Don’t try to forgive me… I don’t deserve to come back").
Beneath the catchy melodies lie themes of remorse, self-punishment, and the search for closure. The singer admits he never loved properly, insists that no divine force can absolve his mistakes, and pleads for a “respiro”–a moment of peace–for both his conscience and his former partner. It’s a bittersweet anthem for anyone who realizes too late that sometimes the kindest act is to walk away for good.
Grab your sombrero of emotions, because Morat teams up with Camila Fernández to serenade us through the bittersweet streets of heartbreak in “Debí Suponerlo [Mariachi].” From the very first line, the narrator confesses that the relationship was born tasting like a goodbye. He felt the coming storm in the way she looked at him, yet still fell for the comforting lies. Wrapped in vibrant mariachi trumpets and guitars, the song dives into regret turned up to eleven: “Had I known that hug was the last, I would have squeezed you tighter… had I known that kiss would end, I’d have stolen one more.” It is a dramatic “could-have, should-have” anthem where every skipped embrace now echoes louder than the brass section.
But this isn’t just any breakup—this is a breakup that hurts in Mexico City. The lyrics name-drop La Roma, a trendy neighborhood that now feels empty without the loved one. TV is off, the heart is “completely split in two,” and even the city’s colors seem to drain away. The song captures that universal sting of realizing the “last time” has already happened, mixing Colombian pop sensibility with Mexican mariachi flair to paint a vivid picture of longing, hindsight, and the wish to rewind one more hug, one more kiss.
"París" tosses you into a roller-coaster of love, frustration, and self-reflection. Morat’s warm folk-pop guitars meet Duki’s urban punch to tell the story of a couple who could have lit up Paris, yet end up surrounded by emotional smoke. The narrator is first pushed away then pulled back into a “battle,” only to realize that all the blame-shifting is a mirage. With the hook “No te mientas, el problema eres tú,” he flips the mirror on his partner: she wants flowers then burns them, asks for devotion then calls it indifference. Each line turns the spotlight on contradictory demands that make true connection impossible.
Duki’s verse spices things up with pop-culture flair—Messi, Jordan sneakers, diamonds—showing just how far he would have gone to revive the romance. Still, both voices land on the same hard truth: love should not be a gamble that always ends in pain. The heart of the song is liberation—recognizing a toxic dynamic, setting boundaries, and accepting losses as lessons. “París” becomes an anthem for anyone ready to trade unhealthy passion for self-respect, all while dancing to an irresistibly catchy beat.
Picture this: you have finally glued the pieces of your heart back together, you are laughing with friends, and life feels calm again… when the very person who shattered it shows up at your door with a smile. Nunca Al Revés captures that exact "Oh no, not again" moment. Morat’s narrator reminds his runaway ex that healing took months of letters, photos, and late-night conversations with a ghost. He insists that in their old love story he was always the one who returned first, but this time the roles will not flip.
The song celebrates self-respect. While the memories still "burn," he chooses to protect his freshly rebuilt happiness rather than risk another emotional earthquake. In catchy acoustic pop style, Morat turns a hard boundary into a sing-along anthem: you can knock on the door, but you forfeited the right to walk back in. Listeners end up humming a lesson about valuing their own progress and never letting heartbreak run the show twice.
How would you feel if the person you like treated you like leftovers instead of the main course? That’s the cheeky metaphor behind Segundos Platos (“Second Servings”). Morat sings as someone who realizes the girl he loves is still nursing a broken heart; she wants a quick kiss to cover the pain, not a brand-new romance. He spots the problem instantly: if he plays along now, her old memories will end up watering his flowers, and everyone will end in tears.
So he makes a bold move—he steps back. The chorus is his promise: “I’ll be back to win your heart once the ‘second plates’ are gone.” He’s willing to wait until her wounds close, until butterflies flutter again for the right reasons, not out of nostalgia. The song is both playful and wise, reminding us that real love sometimes means patience, timing, and refusing to be anybody’s rebound.
Grab your heartstrings and a cup of Colombian coffee! In Enamórate De Alguien Más, Morat wrap their signature folk-pop warmth around a bittersweet confession. The narrator realizes that self-care means letting go, yet every memory of a past love feels too vivid to erase. Instead of fighting the impossible, he pleads for the ex to fall for someone else, hoping the finality will give him permission to heal.
Beneath the catchy rhythms you will find a tug-of-war between hope and resignation. Lines like “Reemplázame que no soy capaz de olvidarte” show his vulnerability: he cannot move on unless she helps by shutting him out. It is a request born from love, pride, and pain all at once. Morat turn this emotional maze into a sing-along anthem, reminding us that sometimes the bravest way to love yourself is to ask the other person to walk away.
Presiento ("I Sense") throws us right into the dizzy thrill of an attraction that feels like a bad idea even before it starts. Morat and Aitana trade confessions of gut-level warnings: they know this charming heart-breaker collects admirers the way others collect souvenirs, leaving only crumpled paper hearts behind. Yet every time their eyes meet, the room spins and caution gets drowned out by curiosity. The singer senses the other person will float in and out, risk-free and carefree, but that very unpredictability makes the temptation impossible to resist.
The song captures that universal tug-of-war between instinct and desire. Logic lists the red flags, but the heart volunteers for the crash test anyway—ready to call the impending heartbreak an “error worth committing.” Wrapped in upbeat Folk Pop rhythms, Presiento turns a potentially gloomy warning into an infectious anthem about diving head-first into trouble, dancing all the while.