His ankles bound by a chain of keens,
A stone in his bread did someone bake
His rucksack, made of woes and stitched with
nightmares,
On his face, there's a curdling smile
His hair whitened by melancholy songs,
and the same poison does he feed to his child(ren)
He cursed and in anger gazed upon us
And he wasn't content yet
Chorus
And the words he spoke can now be enjoyed by
all the people of this northern land:
„If you're feeling joy, don't share it with others;
And your sadness you should carry on your own
Covet that which is your neighbor's
and replace your own wife with his.
A cottage painted red, a potato field, a beach,
a minivan, let them guarantee your happiness!”
Because that comes right after God and Kekkonen;
His life is a trial, just like being
sober in January.
The flag, always flown half-staff in his yard;
He keeps believing in the same lottery numbers
He only celebrates on Mayday or Midsummer,
His song is melancholy and longing
That stubborn bonehead is now laying in a worshiped
mausoleum
Chorus
And the words he spoke can now be enjoyed by
all the people of this northern land
„If you're feeling joy, don't share it with others;
And your sadness you should carry on your own.”