Standing in the dilapidated building, the wind is blowing softly, looking at the spring sorrow, the sky is gloomy. In the grass-colored smoke and the lingering light, I am speechless, who can rely on it.
I plan to get drunk and sing to the wine, and the strong music is still tasteless. The clothes are getting wider and wider, but I will never regret it. I feel haggard because of the beauty.
Intention: