Silence is rare in the years, the autumn wind is tired of wandering, the sunset lingers on, hanging on the wall, reluctant to leave me
The words whispered in the ear of the beautiful woman in the past have flowed eastward with the sound of the tide. Looking back again, the past events have also fallen piece by piece with the maple leaves.
Love has come to an end. Hate has also given up its promise. Destiny thinks it is humorous. There are too many ideas. I can't help it.
I am a bit sad when I have high ambitions. It is rare to have a few close friends. Looking back again, I hear the laughter and pass it on in my drunken dream.
There are no words to talk about. The madness of the past and the present will eventually come to nothing. The sword is blunt and the edge is weak. The dream can only be broken when the kindness is cut off.
The sigh of the desolate road. No one understands the traces I have seen. I have been looking forward to passing through the rolling dust for many years, but I haven't seen it through.
The poems are full of mockery and ink. Thousands of emotions and resentments, the heroic hero is sad. The song ends and everyone disperses. The hair is white and the beauty is dead.
The candle remains unawakened. Competing with the sun, I lose weight. When the tears dry up, the blood surges wildly. The white snow is flying into the sky.
Where is my destination among the falling leaves and drifting rivers and lakes? And whether my lonely heart will always be cold and whether those deep eyes are my destination. I'm really tired and want to take a rest...