There is no intention of struggling for spring, and once everyone is jealous. It fell into pieces and turned into mud and ground into dust, but only the fragrance remains the same. If you don't believe me, I came here just for you, but if I fall in love with you, then I'll fall in love with you, but why do I have to work so hard and feel so heartbroken? Country, beauty, power, what is it that you love?
