Cut off the constant acacia, wave away the sadness in my heart, and cry for whom.

The moon is dark, the stars are sinking, the cold wind is coming, the cold rain is coming, and I can't sleep all night.

The fog is hazy, people have gone, and love is empty. Who and * * * one hundred years, thousands of miles of acacia full of sorrow, heart ached, tears welled up. The moon is black and the stars are heavy, the cold wind is coming, and the cold rain is coming. Who knows, the wind and rain in Sanqiu are colder, the wind will stop and the rain will stop.