Talk about stuggle, when i bottle my troubles, drowning them down with jameson double, until my thoughts become muddled, now im sinking fast in this puddle,  my only solace a cuddle with the cold embrace of the nothing, talk about not wanting to talk about something, cause the thought is always on the tip of my tonuge, but when i open my gums nothing comes out but the air in my lungs, and i wonder whether im strung up in my mind wasting my time with one liners and rhymes just to pacify time, and the morale is you read to deep in this post and who am i? well, i don't even know, and if i wanted to boast, i'd tell you i cook my chicken on roast use nothing but the flames from my throat as i write my poem on toast using butter so the words melt into the bread now my toast is as soggy as the brain in my head, hence why i forgot what i said, losing my head like my name was eddard that goes by lord ned.