The old man speaks of wars
That happened long ago,
When there were dark and murky shores
And when no plant would grow.

Should we believe in his tales,
Or are they merely lies?
Why can't the old man forget
No matter how hard he tries?

The old man tells the greatest tales
Of vehicles which could fly,
Of ships that had no need for sails,
Of cities in the sky.

Is this possible, I ask,
Could this really be?
To see such things would be something
Which I cannot foresee.

The old man speaks of metal men,
Without a heart or soul
Who burned down towns and forests too,
And left them black as coal.

Why, I ask, did they fight us,
Why did they hurt our past?
Why did they turn our land to ash
In one ferocious blast?

The old man speaks of great despair,
Of pain and hunger too.
Of dark gray clouds that filled the sky-
Of fierce cold winds that blew.

Why had these men attacked us?
What were they looking for?
Why did they beat on us
Till we could fight no more?

It seems that we will never know
Why they were full of hate.
Our past still haunts us to this day;
The pain they caused is great.