On the TV our eyes will be glued;
From watching the mess,
We’ll be able to guess
In how many hours we’re screwed.
Fuku’s like the sword of Damocles:
We’re so freaked, that Jeeze, we can’t find our knees;
Sooner or later,
That area will crater,
And then we’ll all die by slow degrees.
Someday, Fuku will shake,
Spent fuel will suddenly bake,
We’ll all die on the spot,
Or else, maybe not;
Until then, we wait for the quake.