Matte KudasaiStill, by the window pane,Pain, like the rain that's falling.She waits in the air,Matte Kudasai.She sleeps in a chairIn her sad America. When, when was the night so long,Long, like the notes I'm sending.She waits in the air,Matte Kudasai.She sleeps in a chairIn her sad America.
Post N° 154
Matte KudasaiStill, by the window pane,Pain, like the rain that's falling.She waits in the air,Matte Kudasai.She sleeps in a chairIn her sad America. When, when was the night so long,Long, like the notes I'm sending.She waits in the air,Matte Kudasai.She sleeps in a chairIn her sad America.