They say, but anagram is Overpaid Guttergents; "Grave-departing stout", "Gore vendetta, rip guts". They say, a poet here is hatchet, and tune, a molten-iron-cast. Ignites and cuts, as shining-bladed matchet, turns knife in lungs brute verse so very fast. And the dust from village-roads flings into the eyes, one can not blink. Then You forget, that remembered was and face wastes eye-brows wavy wrink'. And don't come telling, that songs of bards are then forbidden when king is nude and pleb is digging grave to uncle Sam! Seat proven, dig gutter! The heck, you truly are hag-ridden - in every saying-straight there is a hidden anagram.
Tarmo Noormaa - accordions, vocal
Lauri Õunapuu - vocal, stories