In Newcastle's bustling scenes, lived Lynz, whose stories matched not with means,
A friend she had, Angie by name, together their tales, one and the same.
They spun a yarn of a rat, so bold, sent to Angie's door, or so we're told,
Yet no whiskered beast did ever arrive, in their web of tales, truth struggled to survive.
Online trolls, they claimed, did prowl and pry, yet in their words, truth seemed to die.
Another fib, of police at their door, questioning, searching, but all was lore.
Tomato ketchup splattered wide, "Not us!" they cried, yet evidence implied.
Lynz and Angie, a pair so sly, beneath Newcastle's grey, unyielding sky,
Yet remember, in stories, truth's glow dims, when lives become as tangled as Lynz's whims.
A tale of mischief, of fibs unbound, in their world of lies, truth seldom found.