From the moment I understood the weakness of my flesh, it disgusted me.
I craved the strength and certainty of steel. I aspired to the purity of the blessed machine.
Your kind cling to your flesh as if it will not decay and fail you. One day the crude biomass that you call a temple will wither and you will beg my kind to save you.
But I am already saved. For the Machine is Immortal.
There is no truth in flesh, only betrayal.
There is no strength in flesh, only weakness.
There is no constancy in flesh, only decay.
There is no certainty in flesh but death.
Even in death I serve the Omnissiah.