Ten years of life and death are blurred,
If you don't think about it, you won't forget it.
Thousands of miles of lonely tomb, no place to speak of desolation.
Even if we meet each other, we should not know each other,
His face is covered with dust and his temples are like frost.
When night comes, I suddenly return home in a deep dream,
Xiaoxuan window, dressing up.
They looked at each other without words, only a thousand lines of tears.
It is expected that the intestines will break every year,
On a bright moonlit night, short pine trees.
The author has gone crazy and the copywriting has collapsed.