The wild geese are light, and the fallen leaves in the north are raging in the south. In Qinhuai, who regards a war as farewell?
Long and short sentences, sung in twos and threes through the clear night, blurred colors, accompanying the eaves of the sky and the earth.
Whose side are you opening your eyes and drawing your eyebrows? It turns out that there was an unusual westerly wind and you were in front.
Across thousands of mountains and rivers, I paint you on the top of a green mountain, looking out day after day.
The wild goose returns, and Qingcheng's daughter turns into white snow. At a sudden glance, I see you and the years are far apart.
The wind and dust are shallow, but I always regard you as the swallow on the beam. Year after year, you come and go without asking whether you like it or not.
Whose side are you opening your eyes and drawing your eyebrows? It turns out that there was an unusual westerly wind and you were in front.
Across thousands of mountains and rivers, I paint you among the mountains. Just one look up and you will be there forever.
I opened my eyes to whomever I was looking at, drew my eyebrows with my brush, and realized that the painting was nowhere to be seen at that time.
Across thousands of mountains and rivers, I miss you in this world. I can't see you when I look down.
Conception: