We have deified the man and hailed him as our king. But this thing we call ‘The Man’ is actually machine. With the gears and bells and whistles, no organs, flesh or skin. Hollow bones with no marrow, no shining light within…We’re trapped in the belly of the beast machine of war, searching for redemption, looking for a door. It’s we that built the beast. For its ends we slave and toil, we offer up our sacrifice, it thirsts for blood and oil. We built it from the ruins of the temple of old, appointed a high priest, our allegiance we then sold. We built our pyramids, our towers to the sky, and when a prophet shows another way, him we crucify. We nail him to a cross. Treason is his crime. He’s suspended on the axis that marks the space and time. We rebuild the temple, sew the curtain that was torn and slaughter all the children from the revolution born… The Man says,  ”We must keep the secret safe, the illusion he revealed. The truth he told is dangerous it must be concealed. To keep it under wraps we must censor everyone, and keep them busy with our work baking bricks under the sun. Who will build our pyramids if they escape across the sea? This job is for the serfs and peasants not for kings like me. We must rig the game to ensure that they stay poor, but if they don’t cooperate we’ll just have to import more.”