Surely I'm not the only one who gets mental images of Prax when listening to Peter Gabriel's "Rhythm of the Heat"?
... see the red dust clear
High up on the red rock
Stands the shadow with the spear
The land here is strong
Strong beneath my feet
it feeds on the blood
it feeds on the heat
The rhythm is below me
The rhythm of the heat
The rhythm is around me
The rhythm has control
The rhythm is inside me
The rhythm has my soul
Drawn across the plainland
To the place that is higher
Drawn into the circle
That dances round the fire
We spit into out hands
And breathe across the palms
Raising them up high
Help open to the sun
Self-conscious, uncertain
I'm showered with the dust
The spirit enter into me
And I submit to trust
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