Sickle, with an acre of harvest no longer sharp.
I am a crop in my parents' hearts, but I can't grow golden wheat.
Finally, I put my hometown, time and city.
Three nouns in snakeskin bag.
With the power of dreams, squeeze into the bus and "unearthed".
Hope drove into the post office, and a city was brightly lit.
The newly planted dialect has sprouted.
The city slowly spits out the light of temptation.
I picked it with transparent sweat.
Quickly use blank technical content.
Buy living space in a new home.
As night falls, neon flashes.
I can't bear to go back to the way I was.
Bended into a pillar by trembling thoughts.
One's hometown, one day, one month, one year.
A head city, one day a year.
I don't remember how many cities I have been to.
I drew a rainy day or.
A sunny parabola.
I only know the old house where my parents' eyes are tight.
It is a kite line drawn from the origin of life.
This city only lets me earn its meager money.
But never pay attention to my tired dignity.
Retirement, medical insurance, registered permanent residence ...
Always stand on the other side of rejecting me.
Calendars tear away the warmth of life.
A pain is the language to persuade me to go home.
I am really afraid of drifting out of the strangeness of my hometown.
I'm more afraid of paying for the disability that left my destiny.
Who can cut off the thoughts of migrant workers in the dark?
Let the roots of blood fall.
Plunge into the familiar land of my hometown.
Unlike autumn leaves.
One day after many years.
Helplessly fell to the origin.