Days and nights whizzing by in my eyes
Grass and gold surge in my chest.
I Yan Di Long Pao and Huangdi Neijing
My tears and expression are turbid.
I have been running through my youth.
My bad breath
When I hold a copper pot to warm my eyes, tears flow like a river.
Who is your drunken boat?
Suppress one's throbbing chest
I look forward to the Beidou full of thunder.
A thousand Yellow River diaries were unveiled by you.
A thousand diaries are Qian Fan's back.
Qian Fan's back. You're back.
My emotions are extravagant and wasteful.
My destiny has a bright future.
My silent father was choked to tears by dry smoke.
My nagging mother, her forehead was blackened by the fire of the stove.
I put too much pepper in Lanzhou beef noodles.
My salt is soaked in heavy Shaanxi mutton.
When I lead animals at dusk, I drive birds away from your noisy entrance.
When I drag my children, take care of the old and the young, and walk on your road.
When I bow to your deep source in the brazier above my head
When I use my memory to lift your coming haze.
Yellow River I long for a bumper harvest after the storm.
My black hair and white hair are in the Yellow River and thousands of feet.
I flew thousands of feet along the Yellow River.
I dream of the Yellow River in Tiema Glacier.
My canoe crossed the Yellow River in Wanzhong Mountain.
I really can't take my photo away from the Yellow River with my face.
I really took my songs away, but I couldn't take my feelings away.
The rising sea can't drown the sunset in my heart.
The world of mortals in my eyes cannot be buried in the declining rivers.
My river that never hits the south wall and never looks back.
My river without coffins and tears
I can't reach the Great Wall, not a hero's river.
My river won't die if it can't see the sea.
My blows and blows hit the bustling river.
My stumbling river
I can't leave without a river.
When the stone turns into foam,
When bones turn into waves
Sorghum fell and there was blood.
When tears are shaped into wheat ears of highland barley
When my feet are covered with mud, I have a hard job in my hand.
Yellow River You are the song I want to sing when I am tired.
A whip shadow drives a carriage full of flames and tears.
A village full of apricot blossoms and moistened by folk songs
Drunk, the north wind stands in your Hedong Hexi Henan Hebei
Yellow River, I am the mountain you grew up watching.
My great-grandson's surname is Zhao, Wang.
At the beginning of my life, it was a thousand words with similar nature and kindness.
My compendium of materia medica is filled with the taste of traditional Chinese medicine.
I was overwhelmed by the glorious twenty-four history of China.
A dream of red mansions with my eyes open and insomnia
I smile with tears in my eyes.
My ups and downs, life and death, the boatman's song
My excitement is full of light.
My surging efforts
My sonorous bones
The flowers in Shandandan are colorful, and your mountains made of water and slopes made of waves are colorful.
Little by little, the stars in the sky light your pulse with nine twists and eighteen bends.
Raise a glass to drown your sorrows.
The Yellow River is flowing, but the water is still flowing, even though we cut it with our swords.
When I was humming that nursery rhyme under the scorching sun and frost.
You are my dream-driven China.