I have painted all the floating world with my jade pen, but I cannot draw your romantic features.
If my past life is all lost in wine, then I will take this wine to pay tribute to the mountains and rivers, and to the common people. In the end, who will come to console me for being homeless for half my life?
How could you know that your self-righteous perfection would not push me into the abyss, sea of fire, and burn me in hell?