get your hands on the background color of the years, shake a orchid boat and ferry acacia; Hold a handful of fleeting time, looking through you and me.
Be a prodigal son of time, turn into a misty rain in the ancient city, listen to the bagpipes of the years, and see whose fleeting time has floated and whose obsession has become a sorrow.
the wind is faint, the rain is continuous, the flowers are rustling, the moon is soft, the fingers are flicking, the songs are scattered, and the water is like water, which disappoints the years.
I'm shallow, I love delicate, I think long, I'm graceful, I'm depressed, time is bleak, and I'm on the other side of the years.
The youth is fading away, and the wind and smoke are all clean. Time has run aground one regret after another, and the years have peeled off one paper after another.
whose eyes are stirred by the wind and the shadows; In the light smoke scattered by rain, whose memory is wet; Flowers fall on the edge of moss, who scattered the past; The moon leans over the ancient city, whose heart is cold.
a messy and gorgeous memory, a piece of plain white memory, a piece of paper full of affection, and a piece of paper cool on the moon; A piece of paper falls, a piece of paper hentai; A piece of paper is clear in autumn, and a piece of paper leaves sorrow; A piece of paper, a piece of paper.
Spring is full of flowers, for whom? Who is the heart for? Lonely lights and thin shadows, who are you thinking about? The raindrop phoenix tree, for whom is the dream disabled? Who did Chunhua meet and who did Qiuyue leave?
who keeps the sea in mulberry fields for whom? Who waits the night until the day for whom? Who boiled the hair into white hair for whom? Who lingers in the spring breeze? Who is waiting in a dream?
before the autumn moon falls, who is for whom, the leaves of the trees are dyed in autumn, and the banana becomes sad; Who is for whom, tears for thousands of years, keep the eternal monument.
The past is only sad, who is for whom, singing all over the dress, leaning against the fence at dusk; Who is for whom, condenses the warmth of the world of mortals, and gathers the cold between the eyebrows.
Who is under the bodhi tree, counting the cycles and seeing the fallen flowers season after season? Who is dancing in the spring and autumn on the waterfront of time, waiting for the leaves to fall year after year?
Who is stroking Su Xian and playing a sad chord in the world of mortals? Who is it, intoxicated in the misty rain and the world of mortals, dizzy with the romantic affairs of the world, and rippling past lives's attachment?
The wind has gone through clouds and smoke. Who is on the other side, playing a song of Long song? In the past thousand years, who is at the end of the world, waiting for a lovesickness is not old.
a clear word, a pot of turbid wine, a fleeting time and a sadness; A thin shadow on a window, a pulse of acacia, a faint melancholy, every sigh is a story, every rhyme is a farewell song, and in the mottled time, I sing softly.
Old love is like a dream. Who will pour a city for me and splice the gentleness of a bright moon?
the river is shallow, who will turn a green lamp for me and look at the Millennium fireworks by leaning against the door.
sober curtain, who will stand alone in the moonlight for me and watch the promise of never getting old for a thousand years?
whose song threshold, whose lovesickness, has extinguished the eternal waiting; Whose lights, whose decay, pale mountain heavy water complex search.
at that time, the prosperity became smoke, and the floating life was cold and warm; That year, like a dream, I was drunk.
In that season, pear blossoms outweighed snow and overshadowed people in the world. That January, the smoke was long, and the weather was dark.
on that day, the autumn rain of the phoenix tree messed up the lovesickness between the eyebrows; At that moment, Ye Chengcheng was sad and scattered a transfer injury.
it's you who put pen to paper; The harp is in the royal palace, and it is you who is quiet; Snow-white paper window, poetry is you; Qian Shan Wanshui, where you belong.
May the past become the wind when the eyebrows are lowered, and may the years be as old as before when you look back. A cup of tea before the rain, an inkstone on one side, a piece of Xuanzhou paper, a few broken flowers, a picture that you recite poems at night, and cinnabar that falls on your eyebrows.
The other shore has a fleeting time, and it is full of prosperity, leaving behind the tender memories of the past, and depicting the books of the past; A book and a piece of paper leave the wounds and are displaced in the ink; Play a song of regret, graceful and restrained in the old chapter.
who can promise me that I will not abandon or leave during the hibiscus flowering period; Who can promise me that Changle is peaceful, carefree and fearless?
Look at the ruins of the lonely city, the frost of the moon, the cycle of time, and the fading of prosperity. If Jinse can depend on each other, the years will be endless.