They always start With a disembodied radio voice Over a black screen That fades up To a blissful domestic breakfast scene
The voice is halfway through A mundane story Then another that hints At how things Might get gory
But at the moment All is serene This house is where love is And has always been
It unfolds slow Stopped clocks Missing signals Distant screeching brakes Then unlikely explosions As humanity shakes
What is it? What is it? What is it? they cry Along with the viewers You and I
We the audience Know the template Yet the nervous expectation Makes us contemplate If it was me what would I do? Succumb like a ******* Or survive through The gloom?