Truly they lie, they talk utter nonsense Who say that music reckon that the kantele Was fashioned by God Out of a great pike's shoulders From a water-dog's hooked bones: It was made from grief
It's belly out of hard days Its sound board from endless woes Its strings gathered from torments And it pegs from other ills Truly they lie, they talk utter nonsense
So it will not play, will not rejoice at all Music will not play to please Give off the right sort of joy For it was fashioned from cares Mouldered from sorrow
