I am your dilapidated old waterwheel by the river
Spinning tired songs for hundreds of years
I am the blackened miner’s lamp on your forehead
Follow you as you crawl through the tunnel of history
I am a shriveled ear of rice; a roadbed in disrepair
A barge on the shoal
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Put the rope deeply into your shoulders
——Motherland!
I am poverty
I am sorrow
I am your ancestors
The painful hope
Yes "Flying" sleeves
Flowers that have not fallen to the ground for thousands of years
——My motherland