This is the pupa of a cicada, but now that autumn has clearly entered, shouldn't the cicadas be singing brilliantly in summer? Why are they swaying in the miserable autumn wind?
The moon dances on a frosty night, and all my words are gone. In a blink of an eye, my whole life becomes an illusion.
Speechless to the sky, all the beauty has withered, the flying flowers have faded, leaving only three thousand dreams
Sighing for a lifetime of love in this world, a song full of joy and sorrow, laughing at the world, the sound of the piano cuts off the passage of time...
