A green lotus with a faint crescent white color,
Swaying slightly in the breeze, I don't know what kind of story it is telling.
The night is always so, so quiet,
The legend about the boy in white has never stopped.
Qinglian's beautiful dancing posture,
Are you dancing solo for that distant memory?
The young man playing the piano,
Will you still pass by the riverside of this lake now?
The dew on the lotus leaves,
Is it an ancient tear?
What kind of bitterness and longing is wrapped in it?
Don't spy on the stories in the dewdrops, because the probe,
All you see is yourself.
Each of us is a tear in someone else's heart,
It's just that I don't know, and neither do you.