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 mouldered from sorrow

Its 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