Desperate Journalist Lyrics

Hey mister a review

A word for salad

Is written by my friend

In penman

He uses long words

Like semiotics and semolina

But I countered

With Enigma

And metropolis

The lads go rampant

On insignificant symbolism

And compound this with

Rude soulless obliqueness

Everything's coming to a grinding halt

I use such long words

It's all clever stuff

All this charming childish

Fiddling about

Aims for the anti-image

But it naturally creates

The perfectly malleable image

Tantalizing enigma

Of The Cure

They try to take

Everything

But The Cure really

They're just trying to sell us something

Their product is more artificial than most

This is perhaps part of their

Masterplan

But it seems more like their naivity

Everything's coming to a grinding halt

Everything's coming to a grinding halt

Everything's coming to a grinding halt

Note how really songs are made of

Murk and marshes

Tawdry images

Inane realisations

Dull dull dull epigrams

Sometimes they sound like an

Avant-garde John Otway

Or an ugly spirit

Toy drumming

Sprightly bass

Limited guitar riff

Check the sheet out of my favorite book

People don't forget the penman

It's just that in 1979

People shouldn't be allowed

To get away with things like this

I say