It had happened so long ago
None now there could recall
How or why the helmets and armor
Lay at the bottom of the shallow sea

Like clockwork at dusk
Such relics would wash ashore
Battered, rusted and torn
To lay on the white sand beach

The children of the nearby village
Loved to pick the prettiest pieces
And bring them back as souvenirs
To decorate their little huts

The adults of the village didn't mind
But they were warry of certain obiects
Namely the black boxes and drums
Full of pointed or rounded cylinders

Years ago thinking it to be junk
A villager threw one such box in a fire
The result sounded like a great host
Of lightning striking over and over

Some of the villagers thought
The boxes could be used to make fire
But none of them yet have deciphered
How the strange objects work

No, for the most they are content
Living in their riverside village
Happy and oblivious
That the world ended long ago