You know. I don't like you. But you want to be. My friend. There are bodies. On the ceiling. And they are. Ffluttering their wings. It's ok I'm angry. But you'll never understand. You dream of Michelangelo. They hang above your hands. And I know. She is not my friend. And I know. Ccuz 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. We are never quite as close. As we are led to understand. And I know. She is not my friend. And I know. Ccuz there she goes. Walking walking walking. And I know. She is not my friend. And I know. Ccuz 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