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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2026-04-13 | [Este texto, tienes que leerlo en romana] | Inscrito en la biblioteca por Herinean
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 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 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 anytime 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 that she is not my friend And I know 'cause there she goes Walking on my skin again and again
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