Al Alba (Spanish for At Dawn) wraps a tender love plea inside a chilling political lament. Written in the final years of Francoist Spain, the song whispers about lovers clinging to each other while darkness looms outside. The repeated fear of “la noche más larga” hints at the executions that took place at dawn during the dictatorship, so every image—bleeding moon, silent vultures, unborn children hiding in sewers—echoes the anxiety of a nation waiting for daylight and justice.
Yet the lyrics are not only tragic, they are defiantly human. By asking “no me abandones… al alba,” the narrator turns a moment of terror into an intimate promise: if love can survive the night, hope will break with the sunrise. In this way, Aute transforms a specific historical pain into a universal call to hold on to each other when the world feels darkest.