The World-Defying Tianmen

The east wind blows on the willow trees, and I fall into a dream of drunken love. The harp and harp play with the shadows of the moon, and my eyes are crimson red, falling into the dust. I vow to live forever, wearing plain clothes and Zen, holding your hand and your white head. Breaking an east wind dream, Kong Rao counts the numbers in his ears, sighs for the yellow beams, and lives a hundred tastes of this life.