| You know I don’t like you
|
| But you want to be my friend
|
| There are bodies on the ceiling
|
| And they are fluttering their wings
|
| It’s ok, I’m angry
|
| But you’ll never understand
|
| When you dream of Michelangelo
|
| They hang above your hands
|
| And I know, she is not my friend
|
| And I know, cause there she goes
|
| Walking on my skin again
|
| And I can’t see why
|
| You want to talk to me
|
| When your vision of America
|
| Is crystal and clean
|
| I wanna white bread life
|
| Just something ignorant in the rain
|
| But from the walls of Michelangelo
|
| I’m dangling again.
|
| And I know, she is not my friend
|
| And I know, cuz there she goes
|
| Walking on my skin again and again
|
| Saturn on a line
|
| The sun afire of strings and wires
|
| Spin above my head and make it right
|
| Anytime you’d like, you can catch a sight
|
| Of angel eyes on 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, cuz there she goes walking walking walking
|
| And I know, she is not my friend
|
| And I know, cuz there she goes
|
| walking on my skin again and again
|
| On my mind
|
| Oh Lord No
|
| Yes she’s walking on my skin again and again |