Who accepted whose calamity and whose obsession became it?
How many beauties are haggard, how much lovesickness is broken.
Who burns the smoke away and scatters the ties of vertical and horizontal.
Listen to the strings break, cut off those three thousand obsessions.
The falling flowers are obliterated, and the wind is obliterated.
If the flower is pity, it falls on whose fingertips.
Let him be pure and turbid in everything, and he will be reincarnated for you with a smile.
I send you a song, no matter when the song ends, you will leave.
When all the floating flowers and waves are gone, I will be alone with you.
It's a pity that mutual support is just a luxury.