Distant old days
Although lonely as death
But now when I close my eyes, I still feel uneasy
all, all
Become an armful of grass
Become a blade of grass again
Even if I die again
Still willing to become a catkins
A desolate patch of grass
Willing to lie on the grass blades
Picking the grass
As long as the grass is still pushed over like a microwave
No matter what kind of sadness it carries
Facing the sky, crossing your feet
Stand up holding the wind of heaven and earth
Even if I die again
willing to be a blade of grass
Lying on the thin blades of grass
Go ahead and pick the grass.
Purple
kite