When my Patience is Finished
When the Mercy of Khufu is Exhausted
When my Subjects have Failed Me
And Continued Grace has become Futile
Then will wrath
seem the better part of Discretion
My Slaves Utter Words of Rebellion
They Curse my Name
They Bend not their Backs Unto me
Or Bow Before my Monuments
When Those who Incite Revolt are Crushed
When the Streets Run red
with the Blood of the Unfaithful
When the Hands of the Idle are Severed
And the Piles of the Skulls of the Rebellious
are as the Innumerable Stars