Listen to the night in the mountains, the night will last forever.
Everything is like a dream.
What could be better than complete silence?
More resistant to listening?
No matter how long and busy the history is.
There will always be a moment.
There's no need to argue, is there?
But what about the wind? you said
Wind? That's the transit of time
Because once in a while, a little
A little echo
Homesickness as a child
Homesickness is a small stamp.
I'm at this end
Mom is over there.
When I grow up
Homesickness is a narrow ticket.
I'm at this end
The bride is over there.
We'll talk about it later.
Homesickness is a low grave.
I am outside
Mom's inside.
But now
Homesickness is a shallow strait.
I'm at this end
The mainland is over there
The memorable piccolo is back, mother. The East can't stay long.
The tropical ocean where typhoons were born,
The air pressure in the North Pacific is very low in July.
Come back, mom, the south won't stay long,
One-way street of the sun train,
In July, the equator moxibustion pedestrians' feet.
Come back, mother, the north can't stay long,
The white kingdom of reindeer,
There is no rest night in July, only day.
Come back, mom, you can't stay in a foreign country for long.
The little urn dream in front of the French window,
Use the little plants you planted yourself.
Come back, mom, and protect your town after the fire.
Spring is coming, and I will tread the wet and cold Qingming road.
Bury you in a small grave in your hometown,
Bury you in Jiangnan, a small town in Jiangnan.
The weeping willows hang down to your grave,
When spring comes, you must dream of a girl.
Dream of your mother.
Mother, on the Qingming road, my footprints will be deep,
Willow hair dripping with rain, mother, dripping with my memories,
Come back, mother, and protect this empty city.