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.
She waits in the air
Matte Kudasai.
She sleeps in a chair
In her sad America.
Writer(s): Robert Fripp, William Scott Bruford, Adrian Belew, Anthony Charles Levin
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