Some people are forged in fire,
Yet do not temper true -
We are not them.

We are Damascus people -
Life has put us to the test,
Heating and beating until it would seem
It could not be borne
By anything,
Or anyone -
And each time,
We bond to the very elements of the fire itself,
And come out stronger,
At each stroke ringing true.

We are Damascus people -
Beat us, and we grow stronger,
Put us through fire, and we glow white hot,
Bending before the pressure
Without ever giving way.

We are Damascus people -
We hold, not grudges, but an edge.
It cuts both ways,
This edge that life has made in us -
It protects,
And it strikes back,
Strong and true.

We are Damascus people -
What we once were has become
Something more, not less,
However you may spend yourself
Creating the fire in which you thought to burn us.
We bend, and spring back.
We strike strong and true,
We cut with precision,
And we will last.

We are Damascus people,
And we endure.
When the forge,
The fire,
And those who beat us into this shape -
Are long gone,
Dust forgotten on the wind,
We will be here,
Treasured by those lucky enough
To have us come into their lives -
At least those on our friendly end.

We are Damascus people,
And it is unwise to strike at those who treasure us,
For you will find us in the way,
Unyielding,
Unbending,
For you will see only our sharp edges,
And that is not the way in which we bend -
That is the edge that cuts.
The edge that strikes back.
The edge that cuts through iron
As if it were soft butter,
For iron has never bonded
To the very fires of the forge
As we have.

It is part of us now,
The fire itself still flames,
Its dance easily visible within our mettle
To the trained eye knowing where to look.
We have discarded the forge,
Leaving it to lie in ruins
While we still flame bright.

We have no need of the smith who beat us -
Feel free to quench us in his blood,
As did the faery smith's apprentice,
Thus breaking the spell that bound him there.

We are not bound, as he was -
No spell could ever truly bind us -
For we are Damascus people,
And within the fire's dance,
We are still Cold Iron.
Wedge us in the faery mound to break it open,
And free those seduced by the music and the dancing within,
It has no power over us.

We are Damascus people -
Passed from hand to hand,
Yet our own value is intrinsic,
And cannot be taken from us
Or used without our integrity being retained.

We are Damascus people,
And you can trust us with your life.
For we will not falter,
Shatter,
Break,
or yield.
You know that,
For if we were going to,
We would have done so long since -
In the fires of the forge,
Beneath the blows of the smith,
Or when at last the heat was purged from us in the flood.

We are Damascus people.
That which did not kill us gave us strength.