Introduction to Dear, Dead Thomas Coffin of the Third-Tier of The Scabby Saints, Part One: He's Got Class and He Ruins Everything

I hope you remember Thomas
He's the one who
Throws rocks at girls and sells their Blood to charities

The man who Pissed into a jar that one time
then
Sucked it up into a straw
and
Spit it into the Sky and
Called it the Sun
And everyone believed him because that's what you do

He's the one who stands there
Behind you
Raging about this, and about that,
Boiling his Skin 'til it
Floats off the Muscle,
Turns your Head sideways,
Shares you his Syphilis
so he
Feels that he Owns you cuz he
Knows that he does because no one will touch you looking like
THAT
Enters your car and Fucks the exhaust pipe
Tongues the transmission and
Squeezes the air bags and sweats on the windshield
Whispers to your brakes
that he'll
Take them to dinner
if they'll Just take it easy the next time
you Pump Them

He's the blackfirenegativemisprint
Straddling Ear Hairs
And
Taunting Dead Animals and His Fingers are Commandments
And when you Shake his Hand He Breaks them all Laughing
All I ask is that you remember Dear, Dead Thomas Coffin
Because he can't
And because he always liked you
And you never know when he might come back into town
And ask for his shoes