At the end of time, there are poems washed by the moonlight, with a touch of coldness and a touch of distant sadness.
It is a glass of undrinkable wine, swaying gently in the cups of the years, exuding a faint aroma, but no one has ever touched it.
You are the forgotten lake surface, with ripples rising in the breeze, but no one knows its depth. It's like a page falling from an ancient book, carrying the fragrance of ancient ink and stories buried by time.
A touch of smoke in my heart slowly disperses in the wind, but it can never be touched.
I lost my way in the dream, but found you in the dream. Bloom in silence, dissolve in silence.
Sing softly in the long river of time until the end of the world.
Purpose: Enjoy life