"Butterflies in Love with Flowers·Magpies Stepping on the Branches"
Standing in the dangerous building, the wind is blowing softly, looking at the spring sorrow, the sky is gloomy.
In the lingering light of the grass-colored smoke, there is no word to say who will be silent.
I plan to get drunk with the madness, and sing to the wine, and the strong music is still tasteless.
The belt is getting wider and wider, but I don't regret it anymore. I feel haggard because of the beauty.
Intention: