Tom, with your hoodie bright in blue,
Youād sigh and mutter, āLameā¦ā on cue.
With spiky hair you call āSteve,ā held high,
And dark, mysterious, hollow eyes.
You roll your eyesāwell, if you couldā
At chaos wrapped in neighborhood.
Sarcasm sharp as a guitar string,
Yet somehow still the laughs you bring.
When trouble crashes through the door,
You rarely panic, rant, or roar.
You face the madness, dry and cool,
As if disasterās just⦠a rule.
Though friends may test your patience thin,
You stand beside them through thick and thin.
A loyal heart beneath the jokes,
Hidden behind your deadpan pokes.
So hereās to Tom, unique and true,
The cynic in the hoodie blue.
A legend in Eddsworldās delight,
Still stealing every single sight.
thatās really good. You should do this as a job.