The empty field is full of wine, the horns are born, life is like a dream, nine continents are hard to live and die together, birds are in the sky, and the vast desert heroes are bloody, vowing to turn the rivers and mountains red.
Blood sinks in the desert, and it is washed away in eight thousand miles. The road to freedom, 3 thousand ambition, unpaid old dust,
The poor gentleman finally became a wanderer, laughing at my beauty and staying in the clear autumn.
Tears sprinkled on Loulan, ten years of blood and humiliation, autumn wind Rao Shuxuan, all became heavy mud.
I hate Iraq, but I don't know anything about it.
I am fascinated by 8,000 people, and I talk about the worries of national mourning. I'm in a hurry. It's hard to get together because it's far apart. After several storms and a cup of bitter water, I live in the wind. I'd better take a break. The night is dim, and the neon is beginning to rise. Who will make up for the dressing place in the prosperous times? Blame you for feeding on the people.