Kris
Too late it is oft acknowledged,
Just as a warrior is cut and bled

So shall the weilder of the Kris be led,
To the point from whence none has ever fled.

Where a righteous heart shall fear no guilt,
Where sin lays heavy upon no hilt.

Who can deny the mujarad scabbard,
Sang about by many a bard

For he who cuts with evil motive
Shall earn a wound most retributive

Before damascened steel has made its cut,
And evil doers have fell to rot,

We shall come to see deaths great kiss,
Caress the sweet potency of the Kris