“Amongst blue and violet mountains,
When the evening fades away,
There are light clouds of slow and enchanted smoke.
Fornalutx is small, like a flower.
Water passes through the quiet valleys
With calm and soft tears,
And suddenly the coveted and golden oranges
Shine through dark leaves.
The town is untiringly steep,
Women sit on the small levels,
There is the scent of flowers, the murmur of prayers.
Over a gentle and blessed way of life
Night rises like a tale of horror
With fiery eyes and black as coal.”