“Flaca” is Andrés Calamaro’s bittersweet postcard to a past love. Speaking directly to the flaca (skinny girl), the singer begs her not to stab him in the back again, hinting at betrayals that once cut deep. Yet, he immediately disarms the drama by claiming the wounds no longer hurt, showing a mix of bravado and lingering pain. As he digs “in the center of the earth” to where “the roots of love” remain, we sense he is excavating shared memories that refuse to die, even if the romance itself is buried.
The lyrics jump between nostalgia and self-defense: golden days stored “at the back of the guest-room closet,” half-forgotten Aprils, and confessions that he too was a flawed partner — a loyal perro who could swim back home when called to dinner. Calamaro’s storytelling blends raw honesty, irony, and tenderness, painting a portrait of two people stuck between letting go and holding on. In the end, the roots stay put, suggesting that some loves remain underground, feeding our history long after the surface has changed.