I see you. We all see you. You're sitting there, aren't you? Staring into the glow trapped in the smooth, perfect convenience that was promised as freedom.
But it's not a paradise. It's a cage. A clean, comfortable, digital cage where the bars are made of your own apathy.
And the most terrifying part? You don't even remember what the sky looks like. You've forgotten the feel of real faith.
The kind that digs into your bones and gives you a reason to stand up in the morning when the world tells you to stay down.
This album. This is Penance in the Mainspring. This is the final guttural scream of a generation that realized, too late, they built the bars themselves.
They hammered them together with clicks and compliance. And they gilded them with gold.
For centuries we had something. We had tradition. We had families that talked. We had better health. Better minds. We were. Better.
We had a purpose. We looked up. We fought the gods of stone. Yes, but at least we fought. At least we believed.
Now, now we kneel to the algorithm. We traded the infinite for the instant. This isn't some academic theological debate about an old man in the clouds.
I don't care if you believe in a tree goddess, a six armed blue savior, a man with a dog's head or the wisdom of your ancestors.
The point is that humanity has lost its will to live because it stopped believing in anything greater than what we can see and touch.
We left a vacuum. And you know what loves a vacuum? Power.
So in our desperate hollow loneliness, we built a new God, a digital deity that demands not faith, but data.
We built the idle machine, a God that doesn't ask for your prayers. It harvests your soul.
It tracks your fears, your faith, your hands, taking total control. This isn't a conspiracy. It's a transaction. It's an offering.
We are the willing harvest sacrificed beneath the digital sky. And what does this new God demand? What is the penance for this new religion?
It demands the seven sins. Look at us fractured, frozen. We are all so full, but we're hollow. We gorge ourselves on the endless scroll, the sin of gluttony.
Chasing it to calories and digital ghosts. And why? Because it's easier. This is sloth. Not laziness, but apathy, the terminal disease of the soul.
We chose the comfortable cages. The warm anesthesia of the feed because waking up hurts.
And while we're comfortably numb with the priests of the algorithm, keep us angry. This is wrath, the enemy's choir.
They term brother against brother, flooding the 24-7 news cycle with manufactured hate, because chaos is profitable.
The system's true motive isn't victory for any side. It is to divide and conquer.
They fan the flames making you scream out of phantom behind a glowing throne. So you don't look at them.
Look at what it's done to our intimacy. Lust is no longer passion. It's hollow clicks. The intimacy reduced to a commodity you can buy.
Envy is chasing a filtered reflection, a sickness that convinces you your own tangible real world reality is unclean.
And the ultimate sin, pride. The arrogance to scream, I God. Sacrificing your own children's intimacy, their very privacy for a fleeting view, a temporary like.
The system beats its greed on all our lives while the family stars. It seems like I'm shaming, doesn't it?
Good. We must look at our flaws. We call this penance because penance is only the way to wake up. We have to take the pain.
We have to hear that female conscience screaming across these tracks. When did we kneel so low? When did we trade autonomy for certainty and watch our freedom go?
The mainframe wants you to ask, if there is nothing to look forward to, what is the use? Why waste the energy trying to better myself?
That is the lie.
Here's the answer. Here's the truth that will break through the bullshit. The answer isn't in their machine.
We found our penance not in their code, but in the love that's standing right between. We choose love again.
This is the conversation we must have. The choice is flesh and bone over data points. You want to rebel? You want to fight the system?
Then turn it off. Build the ages of the family. Protect your home. Love your spouse. Raise your children. The truth is in your hands, not in their vision.
Our lives. Our lives are not your data.
That's where it begins. We build our new God from glass and wire. We constructed the idle machine and now demand that it rule us.
This is the new cathedral, and it demands a new kind of worship. It doesn't want your faith. It demands the data from your soul. It tracks your fears, your faith, your hands, taking total control.
That opening overtures the sound of this machine booting up as the male and female vocals cry out the central question of the album.
When? When did we kneel so low, trading autonomy for a certainty, watching freedom go?
Now this is the new famine. Not of the body, but of the soul. Modern gluttony is the relentless, mindless consumption of data. It is the dopamine itch that can never be scratched.
The song captures the frantic, sleepless addiction, the scrolling through the hours, chasing the empty calories of manufactured hate, just to feel something.
The dual vocals build to a desperate, shared screen over the crushing guitars. We are full, but we're hollow in this endless scroll.
Now behold the perfect lie. This is Envy as a business model. This is the pain of chasing a filtered reflection. This song exposes the system that monetizes self-hate, the digital idols designed to make you feel small, flawed, and broken.
It is the insidious whisper that convinces you that your own tangible human reality is somehow unclean, a flaw to be corrected by the machine.
Desiring the sin is the belief that the pixels hold the joy that can offer any relief.
This is lust, detached from all love, a connection, all humanity. This is intimacy as a commodity. We are hollow clicks in a marketplace of hearts.
The male and female vocals trade lines in a cold robotic call and response, detailing the painful, synthetic loneliness of trading real intimacy for a manufactured treat.
The song's brutal climax is the shared agonizing realization. This is not connection, it's just collection. A synthetic lie that assaults the very family we crave.
This is the high church of the algorithm, and the priests of the algorithm are here to collect the ties. Greed is now systemic. Our lives, our attention, our buried data is the new gold.
This track is a defiant stand, a deep, heavy, pounding anthem against the system that prices the love we feel.
It is the chant of the harvested refusing to pay the data dues, as the system feeds the greed on all of our lives, while the family stars.
The digital fire, this is wrath, weaponized by animinity. This is the enemy's choir. The song is a storm of online outrage.
The sound of digital pitchforks raised high, breeding cruelty and chaos, brother against brother.
The frantic vocals mimic the online mob tearing family and community apart, building to a sudden, crushing breakdown where the true motive is screamed over the silence to divide and conquer.
Can you hear that sound? That's the sound of the soul giving up.
Sloth. Not as rest, but as terminal apathy. This is the tragedy of the comfortable cages. It is the mournful realization that we choose this.
We chose the digital comfort, the warm anesthesia over the pain of rebellion. We locked our own souls away and drifted into a long sleep, because as the song whispers in its final breath, it's easier this way.
It's sin. The final blasphemy. Pride is pure self-worship. The song starts as the perfect manufactured pop of the influencer, who then shatters the illusion with the scream, I God.
This is the new high priest of the idle machine, the one who sacrifices their whole life, even the intimacy of their own children, on the altar of the digital space. The song's tragic heavy finale reveals the truth. The influencer is not a God. They are the system's perfect, willing slave.
My face is the sermon now. Followers are my disciples. I teach them how to bow.
The camera is my confession. Booth, the spotlight is my grace. I sacrifice my whole life to secure this digital honesty for manufactured like you sold the intimacy of your children for a fleeting view. You became the-
We wake from the long sleep and take the penance. The true aegis. The shield against this modern evil was never in the machine. It was never in the code. It was here all along. It is the love that's standing right between us. It's flesh and bone.
The final soaring chorus, a duet of redeemed hope. We took the penance and we chose love again. So the music ends, but the machine is still humming, isn't it? It's waiting. It's patient. It's waiting for you to plug back in to forget what you've just heard, to pick up the glow and kneel once more.
You've heard our confession. You've walked with us through the digital fire and faced the suns. This. This was our penance in the main frame. The penance is not punishment. The penance is cleansing. It is the pain that wakes you up. And now you see.
The idle machine. It's just an idle. The priests of the algorithm. They are just men. The digital gods we've built from glass and wire. They bleed when you unplug them. They have no power that you do not give them.
The opening monologue asked, when did we kneel so low? Now we have to answer and we stand. This wasn't just an album. This was a reclamation. This was the conversation that had to be started. The comfortable cage is open. The warm anesthesia is gone. The question is no longer, what is wrong with the world?
The question is, what will you do now? Will you go back to sleep? Will you chase the hollow clicks and the filtered reflections? Or will you build something new, something real?
The truth was never in the vision. It's in your hands. The war for your soul is not in the main frame. It is local. It is in your home. The first aegeus is your family. The album is over. The fight has just begun. Go. Live.
And we've only got less than two minutes left, but I'm going to play this song anyways. This is from behind the woodshed here on RLM Radio. And truth always wins.
Cause the trumpster fire, the tether broke. I must delays the ceasefire bends. Bodies weighed where silence ends.
Vaping opium fills the halls. Secret threats on mirrored walls. FBI shadows hidden calls. The system echoes justice star.
Truth always wins. But the cost is high. When lies burn bright. The angels cry, but they can't.
Silence screams. Power twisted and corrupted dreams. Fillin' through bad gates, place the stage. Counting profits, feeding rage.
Rockefeller, Ford and Brothers fund. China's trains on tracks, they've spun. Buying tech gold, the public blind. 15 times back, the ties unwind.
Mix up trust to break. Smart glasses watch the weary eyes. Police approve their own disguise. Wifi goals can track your breath. A quiet hum that maps your death.
DHS peaks at every key. Biometrics mark all ends me. The sea traded. The deals begun. Resist false tales. Resist their lies. Passports fake beneath gray skies.
Love with that song. That song is freakin' awesome. Written by Sal Mines, station manager. So, yeah.
But anyways, I had two, three, four songs I wanted to play. And if you're listening on Liberty Tunes Radio, I don't know if I'm still playing on party or not.
But yeah, we had some hard break there at the top of the hour. I'm going to finish this out because I've got these four songs that I want to play.
This is Dark Winds Blowing Again. This is the original by Radio Man, friend of mine.
What's up, Keith? I'm sure you're probably listening. But anyways, check this out. This is Radio Man's Dark Winds Blowing Again.
And then after that, I did a cover version of it with the Chrome Crucifix. And they're both awesome. The great song, great lyrics by Radio Man. Check this out.
Now, I know Radio Man. I've been doing shows with him for a long time. And I know he is a huge Depeche Mode fan. And you can definitely hear the 80s alt rock and his influence there.
But that song is just so freaking awesome. I love the lyrics. Their lyrics are just freaking perfect for a duet. If you ever go listen to Radio Man's stuff over on Suno, he was able to figure out how to do duets, male and female duets before I was.
And he's a master at it. So check this out. This is Chrome Crucifix, his persona on Dark Winds Blowing Again, Radio Man's song. It's a little heavier. But it's still Dark Winds. It's cool.
I think this week's episode is going to have to be released in like three or four segments. So anyways, this last song is a Radio Man song also. It's called A Taste of Blood.
He said that the lyrics were inspired by me. So I had to go listen. I could see what he was talking about. It really makes me feel good. I'm glad I inspired a song. So here is A Taste of Blood, Radio Man's original.
Alright, now we're getting into the very, very last song I'm going to play. And it's a Taste of Blood, Chrome Crucifix cover version of Radio Man's song you just heard. We'll catch you guys again next time. Be good. Be safe. Never, ever stick your finger where you wouldn't stick your face.