The complete version of the lyrics of "Prose Poems Written by Father"

Lyrics are a kind of poetry. Those who enjoy music are called songs, while those who don't enjoy music are called poems (or words). Songs entering music are no different from poems in emotional expression and image-building, but they are restricted by music in structure and rhythm, taking care of the convenience of singing in rhythm, and considering the characteristics of auditory art in wording and sentence-making, because they want to sing in music. The following is the complete version of the lyrics of "Prose Poems Written by My Father" compiled by me for your reference, hoping to help friends in need.

Prose poems written by my father

Li Nan

Production: He Chuan

In 1984

The crops have not been harvested yet.

My son lies in my arms.

Sleep so soundly

Tonight's open-air movie

There's no time to watch.

My wife reminded me

Repair sewing machine pedal

I'm going to borrow more money from my neighbor tomorrow.

The child cried all day.

Make a fuss about eating cookies

Blue polyester coat

The pain goes straight to the heart.

Squatting by the pond without mercy.

I punched myself twice.

This is from my father's diary.

This is his legacy from his youth.

Prose poems left behind

Years later, I watched tears flow down.

My father is getting old.

Like a shadow ...

In 1994,

The crops have been harvested.

My old mother last year.

Left the world

My son is wearing a white shirt.

Run into the campus

But he has something on his mind recently.

I lost a big circle.

Think about the future.

I will always be a pile of old paper money.

At that time, my son had already

real man

There is a lovely girl.

Established a home with him.

I hope they are.

Don't live so hard.

This is from my father's diary.

This is the legacy of his life.

Prose poems left behind

Years later, I watched tears flow down.

My father is getting old.

Like a shadow ...

This is from my father's diary.

This is the legacy of his life.

Prose poems left behind

Years later, I watched tears flow down.

But my father is missing.

Like an old newspaper. ...

This is the footprint left by that generation.

After several storms.

Erase traces

This land once made me cry.

How many people did it bury?

Sad past