forefinger
When cobwebs mercilessly sealed my stove.
When the smoke of ashes sighs the sorrow of poverty
I still stubbornly smooth away the ashes of disappointment.
Write with beautiful snowflakes: believe in the future.
When my purple grapes turn into dew in late autumn
When my flowers snuggle up to other people's feelings
I still stubbornly use frosted vines.
Write on the desolate land: believe in the future.
I want to use my fingers to stir the waves that rush to the horizon.
I want to hold the sun in my hand.
The warm and beautiful pen flickers with the dawn.
Write with a child's pen: believe in the future.
I believe in the future.
Yes, I believe that people's eyes in the future
She brushed away the eyelashes of history.
She has a student who can read through the years.
No matter what people think of our rotting bodies.
Those lost blues, the pain of failure.
It was tears of emotion and deep sympathy.
Or give a contemptuous smile and bitter ridicule?
I firmly believe that people are interested in our spine.
Countless explorations, lost ways, failures and successes.
I will definitely give a warm, objective and fair evaluation.
Yes, I am anxiously waiting for their comments.
Friends, believe in the future.
Believe in indomitable efforts
Young people who believe in overcoming death.
Believe in the future and love life.
China's tears
What you can't forget is the tears in your eyes.
Reflect moonlight in the clouds
It rained last night.
The rain invaded the barren mounds in the distant mountains.
That little acacia forest
Covering your grave is a blue shadow.
The weather cleared up this morning.
Rorty climbed the barren hills in the distant mountains.
A soft gale in the valley.
The Buddha put bare grass on your grave.
Dusk time
Who will go to the grave to identify the broken tombstone?
I have forgotten where I was buried.
I only remember that when I cried, I was facing the sunset.
whatever
The one who chooses the most grass.
Put down a bunch of hyacinthus orientalis.
I shouldn't cry.
Knowing that it's not necessarily you who sleeps underground.
Why cry for secular people?
It's been hundreds of years.
This long dream has not yet woken up.
I hope reality becomes an ancient fairy tale.
You can sleep for a hundred years, and I will accompany you.
Let wild roses bloom on us.
Let the red-breasted birds nest in our hair.
Let the fallen leaves rest in our folds.
A century passed in the blink of an eye.
But this is just a dream.
The shadow of the distant mountain swallowed you up.
Swallowed my melancholy heart
Go back through the pine forest
There are vague deer shadows in the forest.
What flowers are blooming on the path?
Why is there always a tearful moonlight every night?
distance
We are on two extremely high ridges.
Stay away from each other.
But I can hear your gentle voice.
Misty Canyon is steep.
Be careful. You said we went in.
You can't take a wrong step on the ridge.
So even at that distance,
Such a long distance
And you still won't accommodate me. I will always be there.
The commandments made on that young night
You said to be careful
We can't make a mistake.
But sometimes,
Seriously, you will suddenly forget.
Will come back and talk about it.
Lotus and the news of the year
Traces of mountains and the moon
How can I answer you?
The forest fire has been put out, and I hate the cold spring in Taiwan.
My suffocating heart finally fell from a height.
You're still reminding me and talking.
Be careful, we
We can't make a mistake.
All the years have become
An illusory myth, let it go.
Green grass and flowers are in full bloom.
Will eventually fall down one after another.
In the dizziness of falling.
Who can give me a satisfactory answer?
Farewell.
You are isolated on a high ridge.
If from the beginning this is a kind of
Wrong. Then why?
Why is it so beautiful?
The last two songs are Xi Murong's.