In a small hotel, there are small people, small porcelain bowls and small white plates.
The figures coming and going on the roadside, the tangled worries in my heart.
Come on, come on, order a bowl of clear soup, drink and feel sad, write a poem, and forget about sadness.
The wine here is very strong, the people here are very tired, and the stories here are beautiful.
Who is waiting for this hotel, who is looking for this hotel...