Qingming bitter rain sacrifices parents and recalls the people of heaven for a hundred years.
The road is far from filial piety, and the haze fades away.
Great love is the affection of parents, and there is no way to feed back and return.
Paper money floats with the wind, and cigarettes send heart sounds.
I smiled in my dream, but I woke up with tears on my towel.
I cried in Gaotang for decades.