Don't be haggard, there were thousands of tears of cold plum blossoms at that time. The tears of winter plum blossoms, the worries of young people, the sound of the flute breaking. Holding the bottle, I still want to get drunk in front of the flowers, and sleep in my clothes under the snow in the small stove. Sleeping in the same clothes, the shadow of the lamp is shining, and we meet again in the dream.
I have disappeared, but I exist again.
I have forgotten, but I remember.
Is this the truth or an illusion?
Is this a cause or an effect?
Conception: