Lost in the North Island, the kite in the Year of Violet, the wind of Muyan Tingfeng, the sound of fanning away in the early Qing Dynasty, the longing for love, the peace of mind, the knowledge of wine for a long time, the beauty of people, the silence in the past
watching the sunset alone, I cool you casually, seven inches light-years, the turbid wine in the North Street, and calling me sweet baby, the gray is dying.