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Well you know I don't like you |
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but you wanna be my friend |
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Well, there are bodies on the ceiling |
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and they're fluttering their wings |
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It's ok I'm angry |
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But you'll never understand |
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When you dream of Michelangelo |
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They hang above your hands |
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And I know that she is not my friend |
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And I know cause there she goes |
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Walking on my skin again |
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And I can't why you'd want to talk to me |
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When your vision of America is crystalline and clean |
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I want a white bread life |
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Just something ignorant and plain |
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But from the walls of Michelangelo I'm dangling again |
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And I know that she is not my friend |
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And I know cause there she goes |
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Walking on my skin again and again |
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Saturn on a line |
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A sun afire on strings and wires |
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To spin above my head and make it right |
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But any time you like |
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You can catch a sight of angel eyes all emptiness and infinite |
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And I dream of Michelangelo when I'm lying in my bed |
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I see god upon the ceiling I see angels overhead |
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And he seems so close as he reaches out his hand |
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But we are never quite as close as we are led to understand |
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And I know that she is not my friend |
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And I know cause there she goes |
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Walking |
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And I know that she is not my friend |
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And I know cause there she goes |
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Walking on my skin again and again |
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Walking on my skin again and again |
