Looking down upon with scorn
 We work the fields of the Masters
 And share not the bounty of the Black Earth

 Destitute servile cast out
 Affording no tomb
 We shall be buried
 Unprepared in the sand

 We shall never be the blessed dead

 Scorned by Asar
 Condemned at the weighing of the heart
 We are exiled from the netherworld
 Serpents fall upon us dragging as away
 Ammitt who teareth the wicked to pieces

 Pale shades of the unblessed dead
 None shall enter without the knowledge
 Of the magickal formulae
 Which is given to few to possess

 Not for us the Sekbet [bad word]  Our souls will be cut to pieces with sharp knives
 Tortured devoured
 Consumed in everlasting flames

 We shall never be the blessed dead