Still just a pervert And I tend to revert To falling down Use me for what I'm good for Call me up to your door I won't hang around Charlie told me I can't paint like Mondrian Worse than broken records at moving on Still I sit With my pen and page To twist our lukewarm romance Into a much more tired cliché Charlie told me I can't paint like Mondrian Worse than broken records at moving— On from anything I don't know what I want to dream about Charlie told me I can't paint like Mondrian Worse than broken records at moving on Charlie told me I can't paint like Mondrian Worse than broken records at moving on