Vision after mishearing a voice on an electronica mix curated by Moderat.
Vision of Promethean figure chained to the exposed stack of an industrial power plant, possibly nuclear, a vacant reek coming from the vast chimney, no steam or smoke, the complex clearly as disused as the desert surrounding it on all sides.
The desert wriggles purple-red. Nothing moves except convection, or the quivering of an eye faced with too little shade. The Promethean figure himself has probably been punished for something predictable - playing around with fusion reactors, inventing unnatural diets, writing hymns that ruin the ceremonies they're meant to save.
The figure is resigned now to whichever gross torment's been given. I'm not sure what the punishment is, beyond being chained under the wild empty sun for all eternity. Perhaps every night people from all over the world travel out to the desert to fire up the power plant, plug in their ferris wheels, fairy lights, amplifiers, and mobile beer cellars, hold raging festivals out there in the sand beneath those Promethean eyes.
Not only is Prometheus a party animal who wants to join in whenever there are drugs and dehydration involved, he also suffers second degree burns all over the back of his body every a time a festival is wired up to the reactors. The factory and the chimney stack he's chained to get supernova hot, especially by night fall, and night is when he hopes to get relief from the heat of the day.
It just goes to show - you don't need vultures eating your internal organs in order to feel like you're missing out, or to have a repetitive, terrible time.