Banks are Evil

My house is cold,
I'm eating chocolate to warm my bones,
in this wretched zone of alone.
my dishes are growing, my bed linens thinning,
banks' pockets thicken with every penny I stick in
their miserly backsides cause their swivel chairs to squeak
and then, I'm sinking again,
in cold old home,
eating chocolate to warm my bones
in this wretched zone of alone.