We toil in the flickering fields of a gleaming internet, hands caloused on the tools of our labor, click-click-click-click is the hymn we sing to the unseen to alleviate the weary mind and body that works so hard for our meagre crop, the bounty of which is enjoyed by our oppressor, whether it be the contemptuous smile of an LCD monitor, or within the vauge and disinterested reply of a desire for freedom on the other side of the screen.