Camel bells ring from the sand lake, and the vast Pingluo desert is lonely.
Gobi is bold and unconstrained, casting swords, and Jiangnan is more thorough.
Yesterday, the bluebird took off and screamed. Today, Artemisia annua is carved.
White hair and the heart are in the soul, like a dream of years.
(the second song)
Listening to warblers at the foot of Helan Mountain, the western cinema is full of dreams.
Drunk violet basaltic hate, tea snow tiger Yin Qing.
The wind turns over Suzaku Guahuang Castle, and the rain hits Qinglong across he cheng.
Repair the old as before, and Hollywood will compete with the sunset.
(The third song)
There are twists and turns, blue waves rippling, and the village is hidden in smoke.
The geese returned to Zhouzhi in early spring, and more rice was produced in the fields irrigated by the canal.
Shallow grass smells flute, light sail hunts and sends fishing songs.
The scenery is better than Jiangnan, so it's hard to describe it with a bald pen.