Text/Mei Lai
The tangled morning rain outside the window, mournful farewell to autumn, yellow leaves reduced to dry boats, residual flowers and water flow. How happy they were to meet each other, after landing on the ground now, they stayed separately, and it turned out that everything in this world also had unopened buckles.
The night is as old as ever, the moon is bent to bear the idleness of the two townships, the candle fire on the case raises the eyes of the dream, the years are far away, and the tears wet the cold sleeves.
Don't wipe away the little white in the hair, wipe away the frown of the eyebrows, and the choking sound quietly in the throat. Incomprehensible greetings exit with the wind, singing winter to look back, singing whether spring can not stop, singing endless red dust meandering.
Stepping into the strange, it is difficult to find the new rui, sighing that the grass in the mountains is dying of old age. The roadside willow looked back several times, the green shirt was also changed into a yellow coat, and then the pieces withered and let the wind go freely.
The tears of the rain like clouds dripped many times, and finally could not hold back the helpless parting of autumn, leaving the ground as if there were no weeping under the wind and frost.
I met you before their buds, and we cherished each other in their prosperity. Now I'm with my pen, my fingertips following your trail.
The moonlight illuminated the clarity of the words, and the memory of the pen was wrapped up in the night. The end of the world has been sentimental, just because there is you there.