There was a time when Volterra chose you,
A safe haven, worthy of a king.
Montieri trembled, it was not safe,
And within your walls the Mint was true.
Silver coins struck in the dark,
Guards defending a steadfast pact.
A tiny village yet of sovereign weight,
Kept through time by an ancient hand.
And the Rocks without the sea,
Where identity never stops to ring.
Envious fate has tried its best,
But this village has never bowed.
Oh Montalcinello, the lion roars

