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Well you know I don't like you but you want to be my friend,
Well there are bodies on the ceiling and they're fluttering their wings,
It's okay, I'm angry but you'll never understand,
When you dream of Michelangelo, they hang above your hands.
And I know that she is not my friend,
And I know 'cause there she goes walking on my skin again,
And I can't see why you wanna talk to me,
When your vision of America is crystalline and clean,
I want a white bread life, just something ignorant and plain,
But from the walls of Michelangelo, I'm dangling again,
And I know that she is is not my friend,
And I know 'cause there she goes walking on my skin again and again.
Saturn on a line,
A sun afire on strings and wires,
To spin above my head and make it right,
But any time you like,
You can catch a sight of angel eyes,
All emptiness and infinite.
And I dream of Michelangelo when I'm lying in my bed,
I see god upon the ceiling, I see angels overhead,
And he seems so close as he reaches out his hand,
But we are never quite as close, as we are led to understand.
And I know she is not my friend,
And I know 'cause there she goes walking, walking, walking,
And I know that she is is not my friend,
And I know 'cause there she goes walking on my skin again and again.
Oh my my, oh lord no, yes she's walking on my skin again and again.
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