The faint cold fragrance blows by, when I look back.
But it is the withered residual red.
The light gauze follows the wind, and it is difficult to explain the pain of longing.
Always sigh,
There are trees in the mountains, and the trees have branches. My heart is happy for you, but you don't know it.
I sigh, my heart is so happy for you, you don't know... You don't know...
(Well, the beginning of the article is embarrassing.)