Political human farming that is all it can be, lower chain fodder slotted and allotted fed and watered, treadmill time till the clock chimes. Tidy ways to pay upon disembarking, a box of ashes or compressed gem. A reminder of how you once sparkled whilst masonic captains are at the helm of the process ship steering themselves away from the fog of defeat, any place, any land, they will use your sweat they will clear the field and more lowly humans will be found whilst lodge lights pulse with demonic powers. By Mason Cult