Thousands of miles of lonely tomb, no place to speak of desolation.
Even if we meet each other, we should not know each other, our faces are covered with dust and our temples are like frost.
At night, you suddenly return to your hometown with a deep dream.
They looked at each other without words, only a thousand lines of tears.
It is expected that the place where the heart is broken every year, on a bright moonlit night, there will be short pine hills.
Intention: inspired by the words in the introduction