Counting Crows

Well you know I don't like you but you wanna be my friend
Well, there are bodies on the ceiling and they're 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 that she is not my friend
And I know cause there she goes
Walking on my skin again
And I can't why you'd want to 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 not my friend