The Purple Stranger Luocheng East, the fireworks a few times with the same, falling plum gusts of wind, spring sorrow point water green.
In the past life, she was frivolous, and it is clear that I am in this life, and the moon has not fallen in the millennium, and the flowers are pouring out of the city in one day.
Peach blossom ferry, who will be lovesickness stand into a world of sadness; bright moon upstairs, who will be the spring breeze dance as a world without peer.
Bloodstained rivers and mountains are like paintings, can't beat a little bit of vermilion between your eyebrows; overlay the world also, always but, a prosperous.
The moon has not yet fallen, who for whom, the sycamore leaves dyeing the autumn, banana into sadness; who for whom, the knot of a thousand years of tears, to keep the monument of eternal.
A river of smoky rain fans, who for whom the long night is not yet over, even the branches; who for whom, light heart flashy, convergence of the eyebrows lingering.
Who is under the Bodhi tree, counting the turns, has seen a season and a season of falling flowers?
Who is on the waterfront of time, dancing in spring and fall, waiting for the leaves to fall year after year?
Who in the three thousand red dust, caressing the string, playing a song of sadness of the string sound? And who, intoxicated in the rain and dust, stained the earth's wind and snow, rippling the love of the past life and this life?
The wind through the years, who is on the other side of the shore, played a long song has not fallen? The flowers are tired at the beginning, and the moon is in a state of appendage. A thousand sorrows and ten thousand grievances were broken in the paddles and lampshades of that year.
Ba Bridge willow is not yet green, the human sideburns first frost, the night is hazy, a song of the flute dark fly hurt; lamp flower thin, landing into a line of gray line.
Cutting the constant sadness of separation, the endless love and sadness, a cut of the autumn moon, a curtain of old lovesickness, full of water, pulse speechless, peach blossom smile all the spring breeze, the rain, the double swallows only shadow.
Old Happiness is like a dream, who for me, pour a city, splicing a round of the warmth of the bright moon.
The river is shallow, who is for me, into a lamp, leaning on the door to look at a thousand years of smoke and fire.
Wake up curtain, who is for me, leaning on the moon alone, watching a thousand years of promise.
Whose sunset, whose lovesickness, whose lamplight, whose spring wind, blowing thin in this life, blowing thin reincarnation of love, blowing thin red dust attachment, blowing thin tenderness want to break.
The night is cool, the lights are dark, half of the city rain, full of flowers, such as flowers and beautiful women, like water flowing years, the thoughts of the people in whose years, whose end of the world?
I once heard someone say that memories are a bridge, but it is a prison leading to loneliness.
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Through the years, I dreamed of going back to the water's edge to see the fireworks bloom out of the moon.
The clouds are light, just idle worry on the top of the eyebrows, the residual wine eliminated the yellow flowers, a curtain of smoke and rain scattered red dust.
Flowering and blossoming, the scenery is just forgettable. The year, the pear blossom wins the snow, cover up the world's people; that year, half of the city smoke sand, heaven and earth into the death.
Warm a pot of wine, and the prosperity of the years on the drink, and the years of love with the drunken.
The end of the world, drunkenness, drunkenness to see the years grow old; look at the millennium, the prosperity is gone, look back to the past more than a thousand years. The only complaint is that the greedy red dust and fireworks flavor; the only idea is to join hands with the end of the road is too far.
Look at the flowers falling on the road, scattered a cool, soft heart as this season's fading, gloomy sad.
You are the tenderness of the next world, with a shallow plum fragrance, fragrance of the sunset of the red dust; you are the fragrance of my pillow, in the moonlight sprinkled with a vein of fragrance, warmth of my life.
A vast expanse of autumn water, flowing in my eyes, thoughts fall all over the eyelashes.
Under the long moon, I am still a dreamlike woman, with a light silk, neon dresses, dancing and playing with shadows. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world, and you'll be able to do it in a way that makes you feel good about yourself.
The heart of the snow, the wind and smoke of the year, lightly rely on the orchid, delicate fingers, light to play silk strings, plucking the bottom of the eye that a wisp of sadness, lifting up the heart of a touch of sadness, appendage of the night of the tenderness, the chaos of the month of the shadow.
The pen and ink on the river and mountain, pen is you; look at all the stars, beautiful is you; book all yellow, title page is you; thousands of mountains and thousands of water, the return place is you.
Brows like the beginning, years like the old, time through the end of the world, peach blossom fan bottom, lovesickness like blood, song all the memory of the way.
The past is thick and thin, through the years of sadness and happiness, the flow of the years scattered fingertips, the passing of the snow deep, smile shallow, turn a wisp of cold incense far.
The flowers on the other side of the river, open the other side of the river, only see the flowers, do not see the leaves. The flowers bloom for a thousand years, the flowers fall for a thousand years, the flowers and leaves are wrong for each other, never see each other in the world.
Love is not for cause and effect, destined to love and hate; edge does not ask the rise and fall, destined to life and death. The world's most important thing is that the world's most important thing is the world's most important thing. The first thing you need to do is to get a good deal of money to pay for it.
A promise to the city is a thousand years; butterfly love the end of the world, migrate a season, watch a season.
In this life, the wind and smoke, you are the warmth of my sole guard. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world, and then you'll be able to get your hands on some of the most popular ones!
The wind shakes the love, thinning the years; rain wet obsession, broken flowers. The long rainy season, all the way to the chanting, all the way back to look at; lights out of the place, a thought of the wind, a thought of the moon.
The fate of the past life, this life hold, the passing of the years, the end of Fanghua, a lot of despair, a lot of confusion, a blank look around, raise a glass of solo drunkenness.
The wine is light, the moon flower is shy, emaciated loss, a cup of dust incense, cut a section of the candle shadow, the forest flower is thankful for who? The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on a new one, and you'll be able to do it. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands dirty. Who is cold because of the lack of moon? The wind has scattered them.
Peach blossom a thousand drunken, strangers in the sadness, write a paper tender and loving; pouring a pocket of sunset, dipped into the rhyme, a past over a thousand years, a floating life as a dream fall fingertips.
A river of clear blue, a shore, the flow of years in the fingertips scattered; a wind and flowers, a snow and moon, the silhouette of the person, to comfort my thin cool.
A few times, said a wind and smoke; Jinsei strings, under the two sections of the lingering. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on a new one, and then you'll be able to get a new one. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world.
Green sideburns frost Hua, smoke wave painting boat, the wind starting point sadness like smoke; human despair, ink stained Jiangnan, rain fall fluttering sad broken heart. The first thing you need to do is to get a good deal on your own.
The face of the water, begonias as old, diamond mirror in the spring mountains far away; the road in the autumn, Xiao Guan go, cold rain stained with a dream of the west wind.
A song of sadness, singing constantly full of desolation; a vein of love, look through the long days of autumn water; such as flowers and beautiful people, but over the years.
Research and ink deep love, fill in a section of the lyrics, flowers under the invitation of the moon, the west wing of the wine, drink a thousand cups of lovesickness, accompanied by a drunkenness in this world.
The sunset smoke and haze like drunkenness, the eyebrow into the dye, who read the west wind, who stood in the sun, haloed smile like flowers, thin makeup, can not hide, floating life a section of the red dust cool.
A journey through the landscape, a thousand miles of obsession, willing to pour a world of tenderness, warm over a meeting.