| Joukahainen, a youthful son
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| Laplander, a slender fellow
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| Bore a grudge within his heart
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| Bitter envy in his bosom
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| Thus he worked a fiery crossbow
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| So he shaped a noble bow
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| And he formed the bow of iron
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| Overlaid the back with copper
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| Then the points were to be sharpened
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| So the arrows then were ready
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| And his bow was fit for bending
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| «Now, should you bring 'bout Väinämöinen's death
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| And by your arrow let him die
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| Joy will then fade away from Earth
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| Songs cannot then be heard again
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| Elation is way better on Eary
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| And the music is more cheerful in here
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| Than somewhere in the land of the dead
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| At the huts of the Underworld.»
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| Long he watched for Väinämöinen
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| Peering, peeping at the lodges
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| Sometimes listening in the alleys
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| Sometimes watching in the meadow
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| Spanned in haste his might crossbow
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| And he aimed his splendid weapon
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| At the head of Väinämöinen
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| Thus to kill Suvantolainen
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| And then the old Väinämöinen
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| Fell head over heels in water
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| Off the back of his blue moose |