Desperate Journalist Lyrics - The Cure

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 counted 

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 

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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 what 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.