It pervades your every season, and it is a white dove under the blue sky.
Wake up on the first morning in October, ah!
Motherland, I love you too deeply for too long, October!
My motherland, please give me a torch.
I follow in your footsteps and make every dream sweet.
Let all sounds be covered with golden notes and touch your day.
Please spread the rosy clouds for me, and I will inject eternal vitality into your splendor.
The first October is always full of echoes like falling tears, and the voices of * * * and China pass through your heart.
Extending to the most passionate melody, you are not just a green island in my heart.
You are my red cloud, rising with the beat, regardless of mountains, rivers, valleys, fields, paths and the sea.
Countless failures and successes have enriched October, ah!
Motherland, for whom is the October crown worn?
On the first morning in October, in front of Tiananmen Square, I felt the charm of osmanthus and the drums of harvest.
I recall the historical sounds carved on white marble, and my thoughts have changed.
Flying clouds, the mountain of Wan Li.
How can I not cultivate my beautiful character and integrity? The rising October has won the competition from Qian Fan.
And my singing, my motherland, has become a flock of pigeons flying high.
Vibrating, vibrating.