My Kantele

Truly they lie, they talk utter nonsense
 Who say that music reckon that the kantele
 Was fashioned by a god
 Out of a great pike's shoulders
 From a water-dog's hooked bones
 It was made from the grief
 Its belly out of hard days
 Its soundboard from endless woes
 Strings gathered from torments
 And its pegs from other ills
 Truly they lie, they talk utter nonsense
 Its belly out of hard days
 Its soundboard from endless woes
 Strings gathered from torments
 And its pegs from other ills
 Truly they lie, they talk utter nonsense
 So it 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
 Molded from sorrow