Hotel Bibles: Clockwork Orange, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Stalingrad, Existential Poem

Thus Spoke Zarathustra is ridiculously over-written
Nietzsche was a crazy creature
But I can't stop licking its sheets
Like it's an illicit porno mag with which I'm smitten
The leaves are stuck together
Not with sticky sperm but ash, tea
And off-the-deep-end philosophy
Dear reader, I'm a compulsive gambling wanker
I continually celebrate my celibate noonday
And yes, I'm definitely an involuntary beggar

Sometimes I stay up late
Listening to things that go bump in the night
Reading Stalingrad by flashlight under the covers
I need a cult of the sniper - but I'm not
A cult, a cult, my pitiful kingdom for a cult
But a cult of what? Surely not the citizen?
A colt of the lover's clit would be nice
I'd like to reinvent my humble abode as a den of vice
No chance of this existing in anything but dreams
A bitter winter retreat to sin city is on the cards it seems

Leaf through Clockwork Orange's spiraling pages
Alex never had these troubles, oh my brothers
But neither did I at fifteen - just expecting death and no taxes
Growing up was never part of the scheme - I want my money and axis back
I didn't buy into this cowardly adult lie
My old droogs, verily, I did transcend thou
It's vecks who never grew I seem to be fighting, right now, and suddenly thou art frightening
How can this be? When formerly I had no need to fear of thee?
Oh my lewdies heed me and never study philosophy
It's the ultimate Ludvico's technique and violence will make you so sick you dream of it

I've lost my fixation for objects of destruction
Both sharp and blunt the mind's now a nuclear weapon
Potentially as horrific as any Nagasaki
I'm not prepared to pawn just any score
Not anymore, not in this penal battalion war
Can we afford to carry the burden of venal whores
So here I am dreaming of being a stellar literary Chelloveck
In my Stalingrad abode the snow outside acquires the status of an omen
I wonder the fields euphoric - a solitary gazing at the horizon
Praying into secular texts that history repeats that fateful Russian Winter
And daring to dream that Sortini in victory finds his Stella

Thus spoke Zarathustra under his breath to a Stalingrad Chelloveck chewing a Clockwork Orange for succor

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