Sing for the motherland
Chen Hui
I
Complain,
I am not a pianist.
Motherland,
Because I belong to you,
A spendthrift
Son of working people.
I am deeply
Love you deeply!
I, uh,
But you can't,
Like a singer who sings Marseillaise,
Under the scorching sun,
Next to the barricade where the Paris Commune fought,
Pluck the strings of the lyre,
Let it spit out.
Shook the world,
The first most beautiful song of mankind,
Here's to you.
And I won't ride on the back of a cow,
Play piccolo.
Neither will I,
On the threshing floor in August,
Raise the bamboo flute,
Blow gently;
Let the flute float over the mud wall,
Fall in the shade of willow trees by the river.
However, when I looked up,
Seeing you,
My motherland's
High in the blue sky,
The vast wilderness,
The white clouds of that day
Wandering leisurely,
or
That little red flower,
Smiled and stood up from the gap.
My heart,
How excited,
Like my hometown,
That Miao girl,
On a sunny August night,
With the beat jumping wildly,
…………
My motherland,
I belong to you,
Violet-black
Young soldier.
When I carry my back
That old "old Mao Se",
Walking across the plain,
Saw the enemy's black turret,
And the turret.
Flying a bloody red plaster flag,
My blood,
It will stir,
Like a Commissioner
On the grassland with deep snow,
Like a big storm,
Rush in,
Soldiers of motherland athletes ...
Motherland,
With the milk of love,
Raised me;
And I,
With my flesh and blood,
Guard you!
Maybe tomorrow,
I will fall;
perhaps
At the time of slashing,
The enemy's gun tip,
Hit me in the stomach;
Maybe,
I will die silently on the gallows,
Or by the enemy
Into the kennel.
Listen,
That evil German shepherd,
Sharpen the tip of your teeth,
Spit in your eyes.
green light ...
Motherland,
Under the butcher's knife of the enemy,
I won't shed a tear,
I, Gao Xiao,
Because, uh,
I
Your extravagant son,
Your guardian,
His life,
I left you a song.
A lofty "compliment".
I sing,
Motherland,
On the loess pile where my bones are buried,
There will also be flowers of love growing.