Write a song with the technique of empathy, about 300 words, urgent ah!

Sculpture It's dark and lonely and slowly cut You listen to loneliness singing softly and ruthlessly The song is so cruel that people can't help but cry into a river The sadness is getting deeper and deeper How can we make it stop It's dark like it won't be bright again Ming or not it doesn't matter It's just a quiet look at the youth who are hard to get rid of Tears are still hot Tears are cold You listen to loneliness singing This song is like a sculpture standing there experiencing the spring,summer,fall and winter.　The moment I graduated from college, my classmates have all gone their own way, coastal development, go abroad and so on, but I was the only one to stay in Beijing. Every time I go home from work, I wander alone in the courtyard of Beiya Garden, leaning against the green wall of creepers in the summer, looking at the moon, which is as lonely as me.　I always like to be in a space wrapped in memories to savor the scent left by the loneliness of different times. That is a very narcissistic feeling.　Sometimes, will go far, far away, to that market, buy food, alone. Occasionally a moment, a certain familiar face fixed in the mind, catch up a search, only to find that people and people's backs can be so similar.　Think about the compound we once walked together, the market, the square, the supermarket ...... at this time, already things are not the same.　The clamor of people temporarily stripped my heart of a hidden sadness, I was silent.　Often can be imagined to be an artist in the hands of the carving knife full of inspiration, when removed from the trivial end of the past, the memory of the reappearance of the perfect sculpture, it has become closely related to us.　Woodcut Prints in Dreams Schopenhauer said that dreaming and living are pages in the same book, and that reading page by page is living, while casually browsing is dreaming.　In the afternoon of a certain year, a certain month and a certain day, the sunlight spilled over the ground, and some memories, along with some emotions, were messy and fuzzy in a certain song.　About a certain person, a certain thing, a certain expression, a certain action, a certain back, a certain number of handwriting, a certain number of letter paper with a certain fragrance, certain habits, a little bit of spread out, touched by the flow of the ground.　Open your eyes, walk on the familiar boulevard, the wind blew over the dream marks left in the corners of the mouth, awakened that perhaps has gradually become atrophied numb heart. This is like the process of creating a woodcut print, the knife of the years in the monotony of life sketched out the beauty of the vulgar, but at the moment, this beauty in the feeling is like last night's dream, real and unreal, distant and clear.　If one day in the evening, a strange person walks past you, his (her) hurried back, just like your dream yesterday. You want to go after him/her and see his/her face, but he/she walks in such a hurry that you can only watch his/her back disappearing into the sea of people....... At this time, the music is playing, is it Stairway to Heaven? Or is it The Devil's Trill? Or was it The Blue Danube? ...... You only remember this scene as if it had happened before in one of your dreams, out of reach, but with the traces of years left behind like a woodblock print.　Coffee Maybe we all have this feeling: sometimes, the passage of time as a movie a play and pass, as if just a moment, the future does not seem to have passed, has long become the past, and has been in the past and like the future as far away. Just like the half cup of coffee you just drank on the table, what you drink down is the past, with a lingering aftertaste, and what is left is the future, but it is gradually getting cold.　Rarely go to bars and dance halls such as red lights, song and dance place, even if the mood of the cafe like the place, but also do not often patronize. Fortunately, Changping is a quiet place. Unlike Shichahai where the lights and greenery, there is also a lot less material desire and vanity that comes with it.　On the contrary, in the movie and television to see more song and dance, the reality of the cafes and bars actually have no taste, coffee with sugar or milk, are not as in the movie and television that wafted to the tempting aroma.　I thought carefully because in movies and TV, when the hero and heroine sit in a cafe or bar, there is soft and pure music. If you remove the music when you watch a movie or TV sometime, then it will be as annoying and dull as the reality.　It's not enough to have sugar, wine and milk in your coffee, you have to have music.　A little bit of swooning is just right.　Bookstore I used to think that it doesn't matter if something is there or not, and staying away from it seems to be just as much a part of life.　I'm not sure if you're going to be able to get a good deal on this. In the library, everyone can be free, the noise of the sound is removed to the minimum, life is also compressed into the sitting posture, expression of these quiet way of expression. No matter what people, here all seem weak and powerless, personality and life attenuated to a simple "reading" state, even the pressure of life troubles, also mute here. People temporarily face the disorder of life with a serene expression.　In foreign countries or film library, there are CDs and movies that can be borrowed, I think such a library, it should be the appearance of paradise!　After leaving the university, the book does not seem to have anything to do with me anymore.　But then I realized that as people grow up, some things are destined to be the center of your life.　After I left, the bookstore became the favorite of my heart. Every Sunday, it's a run to Third Pole. Comfortable sofas, tall transparent glass windows, slanting sunlight, I savor the life in the book.　Missing someone's book, someone's song, someone's movie, immediately go to the bookstore, borrow it, and have an afternoon tea with that missing person.　Sunshine, seasons, are words in the mood, treasured in the bookstore forever.　The breeze blew by, and I met my childhood bending in front of my bookstore, creating ripples on the water.　Montage Music, literature, movies, is like an unfathomable trap. In the intertwining misty smoke, our days and times are like a montage, switching through the years, and I seem to vaguely see the reflection of times and dreams in the music.　On the other hand, liking a certain kind of music, a certain book, a certain movie, is just people's mourning for their own shadows.　There was a time when I loved Faye Wong's "Red Bean", and I listened to it from morning to night, and I listened to it all the time when I was walking and eating. Like Faye Wong's melancholy voice, and lingering rhythm and mournful lyrics: sometimes / sometimes / I will believe that everything with the end / get together and leave have an end / but I / sometimes / rather choose to stay not to let go / wait until the scenery are to see through / maybe you'll accompany me to see a long stream Until later found himself grown up, that box when I liked a boy, the heart of the time, bought the CD, now the cabinet in the The drawer is now covered with a thick layer of dust. Wang Fei helpless look, sad music and that period of youth, also with the passage of time, and gradually scattered.　Regarding literature, when I was studying, I thought I had to read everything written by the masters. However, after entering the society, I found that not all the masters are suitable for you, you should have your own fixed favorite masters, and guide your life, learning and life.　The montage is so ambitious that it wants to collage all the excitement together. But life doesn't seem to be as exciting as a movie all the time, and some of the unskippable mundanity needs to be savored with patience.　Movies seem to be a long echo from afar, melting into a dark, deep unity, vast and boundless, like a long night, like light Perfume, with its color palettes and sound echoing each other, has a fragrance as tender as a baby's skin, as gentle as an oboe, as green as a lawn, as red as a night-strawberry's red lips--leaving opulence, or mildew, or staleness, on mirrors and in windows, or smug ...... I clasped my shoulders and watched the movie playing on the screen in the darkness. The faint aroma of roses filled the everlasting path to the afterlife.　Very early in life, I believe that I will know with a person until old age, or the princess and the prince lived happily ever after.　That cloud, the mood at that time; that love, that moment of pure love; that flower, there Sahara; a few chocolates, under that wall full of creepers, planting that sweetness; a wind, the kind of happiness behind the pedal car scraped up; and the warmth of the paste in the heart of the hand, wrapped in the hand of love ...... That is really a beautiful season.　The screen black field, like time and dreams, memories and wounds are breaking the dike.　Crowds in the theater are dispersed, the empty seats are left alone in their own sadness.　Leaving the movie, the reality of the jumping shadow is just a symbol of someone's sadness, can not know what kind of ending he (she) can have.