It is Christmas days at the food bank,
Where patient queues wait in orderly lines,
While prices rise as the temperature declines.
Unheated homes become cheerless and dank
For those who’re working at two or three jobs
Yet still can’t earn enough for a whole week.
But if they demand more they’re damned for their cheek
Or branded as greedy, unruly mobs.
Remember how nurses were applauded
For the way they bore the pandemic brunt;
Heroes then, villains now because they shouldn’t
Ask for what capital says can’t be afforded.
There’s credit, which means debt and New Year bills,
All from the ringing of the Christmas tills.
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