Still, by the window pane, Pain, like the rain that s falling. She waits in the air, Matte Kudasai. She sleeps in a chair In 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 chair In her sad America
0
0
Related videos
Preparing
To view the site materials you should be more than or equal to 18 years old