The general's reputation is ruined after a hundred battles.
Thousands of miles back to the river, old friends will never be seen again.
The water is flowing, the wind is cold in the west, and the people's clothes are like snow.
A strong man, but his tragic song is incomplete.
The singing bird still knows how hateful it is, but it never cries clear tears and cries blood
Who will share with me, drunk on the moon?