Aerosol is a fun word to spot because it's a direct cognate, spelled almost exactly the same in Spanish and English, which makes it instantly recognizable even for a beginner learner. Here it carries its graffiti sense, meaning spray paint rather than any pressurized can.
Juanes sings "Grabada con aerosol" ("Spray-painted on"), painting the vivid, almost rebellious image of a voice or a name marked permanently on a wall, as if declaring love the way a street artist marks a city. It's a striking, unexpected way to talk about memory and devotion.
"Vía Láctea" turns missing someone into engineering. Juanes packs her into his gear like a fellow astronaut would: "Llevo el prisma de tus ojos" ("I carry the prism of your eyes"), "En mi casco de astronauta" ("in my astronaut helmet"). Her kiss is stuck to him the same practical way: "Tu beso fantasma pegado en mi labio inferior" ("Your ghost kiss stuck to my lower lip"). He doesn't cry so much as malfunction: "A veces llora mi piel" ("Sometimes my skin cries"), "Cuando se empaña de anhelo" ("when it fogs with longing"). It reads like a visor fogging up in the cold, not like sadness.
By the chorus the whole night sky is just her name repeated. "Vía láctea" ("Milky Way") stands alone for four lines in a row, more chant than lyric, before he settles on the one thing he still believes: "Y sé que te vuelvo a encontrar" ("And I know I'll find you again").