I look and cry when the paper is blank, was once general at this, but writers block got me to a lower rank. Send in all my infantry, but the enemy plans to come in with a better flank. Down to my last tank, trying to make a come back and shred these words with a prison shank. Losing ground and gaining it back like WW1 trench ware fare. This war is just un-fair, wishing I was back at the rap lair, tired of doing free style battles to defend my rep, rather have a deal, so these wounds could fully heal. It’s a game of chance like the fortune wheel, this is how I feel this is how I kill.