Life is like a dream, gathering and separation, the morning is like the withered spring flowers,
How often we get together, how often we separate, fate comes and goes as you please.
In the blink of an eye, black hair and black hair, I look back indifferently, with a lot of vicissitudes of life in my heart.
Crying alone in vain.
If the heart is dead, there are only old dreams.
If there is no trace in the heart, how can one sigh?
If you have no love in life, you are willing to be a ghost, like a mandarin duck wishing to turn into ashes.
The forest flowers have withered, the souls are far away, and a slight smile cannot hide all the sadness.
We can’t gather ourselves by our hearts, we can’t separate ourselves by ourselves, and every bit of sorrow about separation will drift away in the east wind.
Love is hard to be reunited, hate is long-distanced, three years of memories, all smiles from the sky are gone in vain.
Don’t look back, there is so much hatred in your eyes, where can you tell the story of lovesickness?
Looking at the sky, a wisp of fragrant soul looks back frequently. Where has the old friend gone?