Sword-Fighting Song

The light of the sword splits the wind, and the horse rides on the autumn leaves. Having been a guest in the world for ten years, my liver and gallbladder shine like a rainbow. Kill the evil dragon, slay the crazy bandits, and send your spirit to the sky. Drink a thousand cups, and sing loudly while drunk. The blue shirt is soaked in blood, and the bullet is smiling like a cloud dragon. The stars hang over the vast fields, the blood is hot in the chest, and the pride is like fire staining the river sky. The red doors and crowns are redundant, and the flames compete with the dragon. Who sees Guizhou's rickets and skinny bones buried in a deserted grave? Sheng, song and embroidery are flashy, and Yaotai is drunk and carefree. He was so angry that he pointed his lone sword at the Lord of Heaven. Withered lamps, jackdaws and dreams are gone, facing the twilight sky alone. The chivalrous bones will eventually turn into dust, and the loyal heart will be sent to the evening breeze. Sitting leaning against the vastness, scratching his head sadly, he sang a generous lament to the cold bell.