I don't regret that my belt is getting wider and wider, which makes people haggard for Iraq.
There is a silver lamp left tonight, and it may be a dream to meet.
The bright moon is slowly becoming round at sea, and we share this moment from far away.
Blue sky, yellow leaves, autumn colors, cold smoke, green waves.
Wine becomes sorrow, acacia becomes tears.
Naturally, people hate water when they grow up.
Say it's flowers, not flowers, say it's fog? Not fog.
It came in the middle of the night and left at dawn.
How long has it been like a spring dream? When they leave, they don't look like morning clouds.