The Cure — Desperate Journalist

Hey mister a review A word for salad Is written by my friend Ian 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 The 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 naivety 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 Primitive guitar riff Shep the Sheepdog is 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