When cobwebs mercilessly sealed my stove.
When the smoke of ashes sighs the sorrow of poverty
I still stubbornly smooth away the ashes of disappointment.
Write with beautiful snowflakes: believe in the future.
When my purple grapes turn into dew in late autumn
When my flowers snuggle up to other people's feelings
I still stubbornly use frosted vines.
Write on the desolate land: believe in the future.
I want to use my fingers to stir the waves that rush to the horizon.
I want to hold the sun in my hand.
The warm and beautiful pen flickers with the dawn.
Write with a child's pen: believe in the future.
I believe in the future.
Yes, I believe that people's eyes in the future
She brushed away the eyelashes of history.
She has a student who can read through the years.
No matter what people think of our rotting bodies.
Those lost blues, the pain of failure.
It was tears of emotion and deep sympathy.
Or give a contemptuous smile and bitter ridicule?
I firmly believe that people are interested in our spine.
Countless explorations, lost ways, failures and successes.
I will definitely give a warm, objective and fair evaluation.
Yes, I am anxiously waiting for their comments.
Friends, believe in the future.
Believe in indomitable efforts
Young people who believe in overcoming death.
Believe in the future and love life.
-
youth
The bloom of youth makes me tired but I don't regret it.
The rain and snow in the four seasons make me ecstatic but haggard.
Gentle wind and green dreams, gentle morning and morning drowsiness,
Light clouds and light tears, light years.
With the joy of wandering, I just never came back,
No one hinted at my homesickness when I was a child.
I want to snuggle up in every golden sunset,
Every transparent dewdrop washed away my sadness.
I met her in full bloom in the distant spring,
Full of dazzling brilliance, like a beautiful fairy tale.
Allow me, song for you. I can't sleep every night,
Allow me to cry for you. I can fly freely in tears.
The sky in my dream is very big, and I am lying on your eyelashes.
There were many days in my dream, but I began to want to go home.
I will bury all my songs on that blue hillside,
Waiting for one day they will become legends in the world.
The bloom of youth makes me tired but I don't regret it.
The rain and snow in the four seasons make me ecstatic but haggard.
Tangled clouds, tangled tears, tangled mornings,
Lost wind, lost dreams, lost years.