Alex Campos - Dios Creó Lyrics
Lyrics
Miro la estrellas, miro el universo, miro el elefante miro el delfin, miro mi carita, miro mi nariz miro a Diosito que me hace feliz
como es Miro la estrellas, miro el universo miro el elefante miro el delfin miro mi carita miro mi nariz miro a Diosito que me hace feliz
miro el cielo y el sol sonreir sol solecito calientame a mi miro la luna carita feliz luna lunita alumbrame a mi.
Dios creo la vaca para darnos la leche el creo el cielo para que viva el sol Dios creo mis ojos para ver su belleza hizo mi boquita para cantarle hoy
canta la hormiguita junto con el elefante canta el caballito tambien canta el leon los pollitos dicen pio pio pio pio y mi corazon dice ton ton ton
recuerdo el di cuando yo te vi me miro los ojos y me dijo asi yo te di mlas manos yo te di los pies te di la alegria para sonreir
Hoy alzo mis manos hoy alzo mis pies grito de alegria una y otra vez cuando me levanto recuerdo tambien que el esta conmigo hasta mi vejez.
Dios creo la vaca para darnos la leche el creo el cielo para que viva el sol Dios creo mis ojos para ver su belleza hizo mi boquita para cantarle hoy
canta la hormiguita junto con el elefante canta el caballito tambien canta el leon los pollitos dicen pio pio pio pio y mi corazon dice ton ton ton.
Video
Dios Creó - Alex Campos Alinkelim
Meaning & Inspiration
I sat on the back porch this morning, the kind of morning where the joints ache a little more than they did twenty years ago, and I played this track by Alex Campos. At first, the simplicity of it—the list of elephants and dolphins and noses—struck me as the sort of thing we grow out of. It’s light, almost playful, the kind of song you’d expect to hear in a nursery. But then I caught that line near the end: “recuerdo también, que el está conmigo hasta mi vejez.”
When you’re young, that’s just a line in a song. It sounds like a promise made in the bright, middle-day sun. But when you’ve hit the autumn of your life, when the house is quiet and the memories are clearer than the present, that isn’t just a lyric anymore. It’s a lifeline.
There is a certain honesty in the way Campos connects the trivial—the nose on his face, the milk from the cow—to the presence of the Creator. We spend so much of our middle years trying to build monuments or solve grand theological puzzles, but maybe faith is actually meant to be this simple. It’s the eyes to see the sun, the mouth to speak a note, the recognition that even the "ton-ton-ton" of a heartbeat isn't an accident. It’s a gift.
Psalm 71:18 comes to mind, where the Psalmist asks God not to forsake him even when he is old and gray. It’s a desperate, human plea. Yet here, the song leans into a different posture. It doesn’t ask to be remembered; it insists on remembering. It claims that the same God who made the stars and the little ants is the same One holding onto us when our own hands start to shake and the world begins to narrow.
There’s a tension there, isn't there? To sing about the sun smiling and the little birds chirping while the knees are giving out and the shadows are lengthening across the floorboards. It feels fragile. Some might call it childish. But I think there is a fierce strength in choosing to see the world through the eyes of a child when you have every reason to be cynical.
I’m not entirely sure I have the energy to "shout with joy" like the chorus suggests. Some days, my worship is just sitting still, watching the dust motes dance in the light and acknowledging that, yes, He is still there. He was there when I was foolish and strong, and He is there now that I am tired and weathered. If a simple song about cows and stars can remind me of that basic, stubborn truth, then maybe it’s not just noise after all. Maybe it’s the only thing left worth saying.