Текст песни Cure - Desperate Journalist, слова песни Cure

Текст песни Cure - Desperate Journalist

Cure - Desperate Journalist слова песни

Hey mister a reviewA word for saladIs written by my friendIn penmanHe uses long wordsLike semiotics and semolinaBut I countedWithEnigma and metropolisThe lads go rampant on insignificant symbolismAnd compound this with rude soulless obliquenessEverything`s coming to a grinding haltI use such long wordsIt`s all clever stuffAll this charming childish fiddling about aims for the anti-imageBut it naturally creates the perfectly malleable imageTantalizing enigmaOf the CureThey try to takeEverythingBut the Cure reallyThey`re just trying to sell us somethingTheir product is more artificial than mostThis is perhaps part of theirMasterplanBut it seems more like their naivityEverything`s coming to a grinding haltEverything`s coming to a grinding haltEverything`s coming to a grinding haltNote how really songs what are made of (?)Murk and marshesTawdry imagesInane realisationsDull dull dull epigramsSometimes they sound like an avant-garde John OtwayOr an ugly spiritToy drummingSprightly bassLimited guitar riffCheck the sheet out of my favorite bookPeople don`t forget the penmanIt`s just that in 1979 people shouldn`t be allowed to get away withthings like thisI say.

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Cure

Desperate Journalist

Текст песни Cure - Desperate Journalist

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