往事如風，輕煙若夢，廿月成空，霜雪落叢。寒冬裡的風都如利刀喜歡割開悲哀人的胸膛，老酒冰涼，一杯一杯的灑落着情長。婉轉的燈籠，飄零的雪花，冷風呼呼碾壓過往，徘徊在身邊的清冷，已經沒有誰還能夠明白。那是一座空亭，老舊的石桌，破舊的石凳，唯有癡情的人曲卷着身體手裡抱着破舊的酒瓶，老酒流淌，故事流長，思緒如水，心也冰涼。
The past like the wind, light smoke like a dream, 20 months into empty, frost and snow fall plexus. The wind in the cold winter is like a knife like to cut the sad people's chest, cold wine, a cup of love long. Graceful lanterns, drifting snow, the cold wind grinding past, wandering around the cold, no one can understand. It is an empty pavilion, old stone table, shabby stone bench, only spoony people curl the body in his hands holding the old bottle, old wine flowing, long story, thoughts like water, the heart is cold.
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