The Last Prophet is preaching to a small group of folks, in a backwater town where smuggling operations are more common than commonplace and the locals all have a shogun or two. Tapping rhythmically on his Bucket, the Prophet speaks thus!
"Its the Temples of Syrinx. Rush sang about them, but its not fiction, man! Its true! With the eventual fall of the metaphysical geopolitical standings, its inevitable. The same assured courage that drove society will be its end. Folks will rebel, the enlightened will sing, the functional will fight, the complacent will be as sheep to the slaughter. A total man. Made. Apocalypse. You dig it? A holy governmental fury will cleanse like Lava, leaving naught but charred infrastructure and the shattered pockets of a fragmented Humanity. A total social pragmatic movement, man. Your gods are gods, but even they will take physical form in a non-physical complete annihilation of what we've strived to create. From the ashes a crow disguised as a Phoenix, will rise like a torpedo man! I ain't foolin'! The Temples of Syrinx will establish a control, a government, a protection, and we'll flock. But thats not the way, Man! Because the same force that destroyed you, will pretend to vindicate you. I speak this, the Temples will Rise. But never be mistaken, take the protection, but don't surrender control. If they try to take it, retaliate thusly man.
Its the only way."
And with that the Last Prophet turns to a Coke Zero on the bar, and preaches no more.