When the cold wind blows in July, my pillow feels desolate and filled with hatred. The dream should be where the clouds return, but they are nowhere to be found. Ask the world, what is the meaning of the word love? It's hard to fall asleep when the night is cold. The waning moon falls on the sparse tung trees. When I wake up from wine, my dream is over.
The lonely guest in the world of mortals, lost in the sky, the Weaver Girl and the Cowherd, where can I find them? Now I only drink wine in the air, drunken life and dreams.