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Dreaming back to the border, a song of troubled times, war drums beat and the burial mounds are heard, wolf smoke cuts across thousands of miles, horses are dead in the loess, you want to leave, slow singing and low laughter, in this world of mortals, laugh, laugh, cut the silk with a knife, love is wiped out! How many mirror moons can there be in floating life? I have been born in autumn several times, but I have not returned. There have been several winter snows, and the cold buries the lonely soul. How can the song end when we talk about love and hate? Destiny arises, establish a firm mind, and boil it with blood! (Floating River Ci.)