The world is thin, people are evil, the rain brings dusk and the flowers fall easily;
The morning wind dries, leaving traces of tears,
When I want to write down my thoughts, I talk alone on the side rails.
Difficult, difficult, difficult.
People are different, today is not yesterday, the sick soul tastes like a rope on a swing;
The sound of the horn is cold, the night is dark,
Afraid of being asked, I swallow my tears and pretend to be happy,