My Kantele
(Holopainen)
Truly they lie, they talk utter non-sence Who say that music recon 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 Moulded from sorrow
Its belly out of hard days Its sound board from endless woes Its strings gathered from torments And its pegs from other illsSo 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
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