Ron Sexsmith
Ron Sexsmith
Ron Sexsmith
Ron Sexsmith
Ron Sexsmith
Ron Sexsmith
Ron Sexsmith
Ron Sexsmith
Ron Sexsmith
Ron Sexsmith
Ron Sexsmith
Ron Sexsmith
Ron Sexsmith
Ron Sexsmith
About the ice cream man who would stop outside of his house everyday because he knew he had kids, and if he didn’t get ice cream they would cry.
From a few streets over
Before the sun goes down
You can hear it coming closer
To this dislocated shoulder
Of an old and crooked town
That's when the ice cream van
Rolls around
But in the land of plenty
The money here is tight
The children here are many
And if you do have any
He will park his van outside
There waits the ice cream man
With the cold dark eyes
For it's not a Rockwell summer
Or a world of Dick and Jane
And how it makes you shudder
Like you used to hide from thunder
When you hear him coming down the lane
And you condemn the ice cream man
To the world of flame
A sickly sweet wind is blowing
Across the fields of hell
A liquorice night's unfolding
Near a grave sight a corroded
Old and burnt out carousel
Here lies the ice cream man
The devil treats him well