Who is singing in a low voice, that charming tune?
That ancient and sad melody flows from whose fingertips
I have never encountered such a hot summer. The light and flying dust in the air is clearly visible in the sun.
It was like I had never encountered such a cold winter. The snowflakes flying in the sky and the white earth were clean and beautiful, but more like a silent tomb where everything was buried.
The long hair blown up by the wind is intertwined one by one, like the stories that cannot be sorted out that year, messy and lingering