Ice Cream Truck Hearse

Here it comes again,
The ice cream truck hearse,
No child approaches,
For those treats are the worst,

The driver behind the van - a con-artist crook,
Will fry you a noose,
And throw you a hook,
Business is his favorite topping, flavored like rot and grit,
Peddled by that mobile coffin,
Quite unlike chocolate fudge, isn't it?

Empty neighborhood streets, usually full of cheer,
Become the domain of the predator van,
On these days of the year,
Everyone is advised to stay inside,
For the ice cream man has devised a sort of sap,
It deludes the mind, this psychological trap,
Weeding away the child inside,
Until you find yourself shuffling into work,
And your boss takes advantage of you, using the same tricks,
As that shadow in the van,
Suited and slick,
You thought you could stay away,
From that tricky ice cream man,
But, alas, you forgot,
He was everywhere you ran.

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