I don't know how many days they gave me, but I do feel my hands getting empty. Counting silently, I found that more than 8 thousand days had slipped away from me. Like a drop of water on the needle tip disappearing into the sea, my days are dripping into the stream of time-silently and without a trace. Sweat has condensed on my forehead, and tears are pouring out of my eyes.
The past is gone forever, and the future will continue to come; However, between the two, how fast is such a hasty change? When I got up in the morning, the setting sun left a mark in my small room.
Swallows may have gone, but sometimes they come back; Willow may have died, but it has been renewed; Peach blossoms may have withered, but they will bloom again. Now, smart you, tell me-why are our days gone forever? If they were stolen, who would it be? Where would he hide them? If they escaped by themselves, where would they hide now?
I don't know how many days they gave me, but I do feel my hands getting empty. Counting silently, I found that more than 8 thousand days had slipped away from me. Like a drop of water on the needle tip disappearing into the sea, my days are dripping into the stream of time-silently and without a trace. Sweat has condensed on my forehead, and tears are pouring out of my eyes.
The past is gone forever, and the future will continue to come; However, between the two, how fast is such a hasty change? When I get up in the morning, the setting sun draws two or three ovals in my small room. The sun has feet-look, he walks softly and secretly; I lost myself in his revolution. Therefore, when I wash my hands, the days flow away from the sink; When I eat, the days rub off in the bowl; When I think silently, the days pass under the gaze of my daydream. I can feel his hurry now, so I stretch out my hand to hold him, but he continues to flow through my body and slip past my feet in his agile way. When I opened my eyes and saw the sun again, the whole day had passed. I buried my face in my hands and sighed. But a new day begins to flash by with a sigh.
What can I do, in this bustling world, my days fly away in their escape? Nothing but hesitation and haste. What am I doing in those 8,000-day rush except hesitation? The past days are like light smoke blown away by the breeze, or like mist evaporated by Chu Yang. What traces did I leave? Did I leave any clues? I came into this world naked; Do I have to go back naked in the blink of an eye? But it's not fair: why should I come for nothing?
Two or three ovals. The sun has feet-look, he walks softly and secretly; I lost myself in his revolution. Therefore, when I wash my hands, the days flow away from the sink; When I eat, the days rub off in the bowl; When I think silently, the days pass under the gaze of my daydream. I can feel his hurry now, so I stretch out my hand to hold him, but he continues to flow through my body and slip past my feet in his agile way. When I opened my eyes and saw the sun again, the whole day had passed. I buried my face in my hands and sighed. But a new day begins to flash by with a sigh.
What can I do, in this bustling world, my days fly away in their escape? Nothing but hesitation and haste. What am I doing in those 8,000-day rush except hesitation? The past days are like light smoke blown away by the breeze, or like mist evaporated by Chu Yang. What traces did I leave? Did I leave any clues? I came into this world naked; Do I have to go back naked in the blink of an eye? But it's not fair: why should I come for nothing?