Alex Campos - No Tiene Prisa Lyrics
Lyrics
Voy caminando y me atrevo a creer Que sin saberlo yo creÃa conocer Seguà sus pasos como un barco de papel Fui naufragando sin siquiera entender Su Amor, su amor a mÃ
Te aparte con mis fuerzas yo luche A la distancia se movÃa mi querer Ayer te vi y hoy no se si estas aquà Que necio fui, que poco entendà Tu amor, tu amor en mÃ
Es tu amor el que sigue hoy aquà Sin darme cuenta fui yo quien me escondà Me aleje y con ello entendà Que tu amor no se ha ido sigue ahÃ
Voy caminando paso a paso seguiré Cuando me canse a tus brazos llegare Me confundo sé que solo moriré Por eso vengo a rendirme otra vez a tu amor Tu amor en mÃ
Es tu amor el que sigue hoy aquà Sin darme cuenta fui yo quien me escondà Me aleje y con ello entendà Que tu amor no se ha ido sigue ahÃ
Es tu amor que me levanta Que me atrapa y no me suelta Que me alivia y me libera
Es que tu amor no trae condena No señala ni olvida Que por mi entrego su vida Que soy yo aquella oveja que busco a toda prisa Me encontró con su sonrisa me abrazo con sus caricias Es que tu amor me enmudece y me agita Es mi lámpara encendida Es mi fuego y no ceniza Tu amor no tiene prisa
Video
No tiene prisa - Alex Campos HD - Video Oficial
Meaning & Inspiration
"Como un barco de papel."
Alex Campos drops this image early in Regreso a Ti, and it sticks like a splinter. Think about a paper boat for a second. It’s fragile, folded with careful geometry, but ultimately doomed. It’s designed for a puddle, not the ocean. When he says he followed God's steps like this, he’s describing a kind of faith that is both earnest and dangerously naive. He’s admitting that his initial devotion wasn't anchored in stone; it was a craft held together by creases, ready to go under the moment the water rose.
There is a fascinating tension here. A paper boat is honest—it’s light, it’s simple, it’s beautiful—but it is fundamentally unable to handle the reality of a storm. We often talk about faith as if it should be an ironclad fortress, but Campos acknowledges that his early experience was more like origami. It disintegrated. "Fui naufragando," he admits. The shipwreck wasn't a failure of the destination; it was a failure of the vessel he had constructed out of his own limited understanding.
It hits hard because most of us operate exactly like that. We fold up our expectations of God, tuck them into our pockets, and assume they’ll float. Then the tide comes in.
I keep coming back to how he frames this drift. He doesn't blame the sea; he acknowledges his own hiding. "Sin darme cuenta fui yo quien me escondí." It’s an admission that the distance between him and God wasn't a theological crisis, but a personal withdrawal. We tend to complicate our spiritual distance with fancy jargon, but Campos strips it down to a simple movement: I moved, and therefore, I couldn't see you.
Scripture has this recurring image of the shepherd leaving the ninety-nine to chase the one—the sheep that just keeps walking away, head down, oblivious. Campos touches on this with "soy yo aquella oveja que busco a toda prisa." There’s a frantic, almost desperate energy to that line. It’s not a gentle stroll home; it’s a pursuit.
The most unsettling line in the track, however, might be: "Es tu amor que me enmudece y me agita." We usually want God's love to be a sedative, something that calms the nerves and settles the pulse. But here, the love is an agitator. It makes him mute—stunned into silence—and then it stirs him up. It’s the difference between a decorative lamp and a wildfire. "Es mi fuego y no ceniza."
It leaves me wondering: if we are still waiting for a love that doesn't burn, are we just hoping for the paper boat to stay dry? The lyrics suggest that the real work isn't in keeping the boat afloat, but in letting the water do its work until we finally accept the hand that reached for us in the surf. It’s messy, it’s uncomfortably exposed, and it’s entirely devoid of the pretense that we ever had it all figured out.