Seeking the lyrics of the classic songs of Hetu

Lingding ballad: The fox leaves the song/sings: The river map is full of flying flowers scattered all over the world, so that those bones will not forget to go home. During the Qingming Festival, the flute is melodious, prompting pedestrians to burst into tears. In the shallow pond, koi fish is lingering, listening to the fallen flowers at night. The white hair comb is worried about who cries and hurts the wall. Who's laughing, glaring and desolate? Who laughs at this glitz? Who is quiet and doesn't have to talk? The clouds washed away the sand between my fingers. In black and white, the willows you planted grew new branches, the orioles grew long branches, the fireflies dispersed in spring and summer, and the souls who traveled peacefully no longer looked back at the smoke in Xinghua Village. Who is crying, crying and darkening the sky? Who is crying? Who is melancholy, buried in the twilight? Who cut off the wings of the butterfly and warmed the yellow candlelight? Who opened the carved window in case you missed the guide? Aquilaria aloes and Sophora alopecuroides are on fire, and the smoke is cold. Have you forgotten the nursery rhymes by the bridge? Can you sing the silent boatman you left behind? Who told you to bend the river? Who lit the lamp? Is he back? White character: Darsity Song: River Map Arrangement: River Map Who once searched for the scenery I carved in Gu Zhuo in the deep rain at the gate? At night, the bright moon waved her hand according to the song I stayed to sing. Every time I disappear for Luo Qi, who knows my poverty and my pride? Who ever waited for me to defeat the flower wall in Yanhua Lane, leaving only the mottled woman who laughed with me under the flower? When the years are quiet and smiling, I know I am no longer young. The wind blows away dead leaves and shakes off empty cicadas. How can I sing on the courtyard platform full of peonies and hang a bead curtain to make my pen amazing? Change the string and return; When the wine sings for a long time; The taste of the product remains unchanged. This white skirt is tied or tired. An empty cup is full. Who knocked over the wine and threw it around, making me drunk. Even if I can't see who is in front of me and who doesn't change the trip to the Red Chamber, I can't move sorrow and poetry to exchange wine. How to get to this game? The loess dust is vast after lingering in the bead curtain. Finally listening to the prelude, watching the autumn rain, watching the sadness, watching the fame, watching the beauty blow away the dead leaves and shake off the empty cicada. How can I make my pen amazing by singing on the courtyard platform full of peonies? This white skirt is very ordinary and I am used to new words. I sang it eight or nine times a night, changed a broken pipa, and then returned the wine with songs. The smell of this white dress is constant in the evening in the pavilion. This white skirt is forever and instantaneous. Tonight, the lamp oil is burned out. I haven't finished half the story yet; Who helped me invent it in the past; Step on a tree, a bridge, a light rain, an umbrella, a dream, a pot of wine and a white suit. It is common to cut this white suit all your life. Also used to new words. I sang it eight or nine times a night, changed a broken lute, and then returned the wine with songs in the pavilion. At night, this white suit will always taste the same as the moment. Tonight, the lamp oil has been burned dry. Who will throw themselves into your arms if you don't show mercy? The desert in the midnight battlefield is like weeds. The first frost is full of depression. It's very cold. Tingmei cinnabar is like a meat cleaver. In troubled times, it is like a meat cleaver. In my youth, it was a laughing sword. The sword refers to Tian Shanxi. The people in Yangguan are deserted. Sandstorm has worn away the ancient road. Whose eyebrows are spreading? The flag is even, the wine is pouring down, the clouds are burning at dusk, the snowflakes are falling, the string of' rotine' is broken, the heartbeat is broken, and it is ethereal, like grass in March, like a mire, or eyes are entangled through the scabbard. He went to the tower to undress, and the clouds and waves sent him to break the wall. If you don't engrave the Qiang sign for a thousand years, the world of mortals will be reversed. Who is leaning against the fence? Who is leaning against the mountains and rivers, whose heartbeat is swaying? Chang 'an flowers forget the sunset. Luo Ting's white hair, Luo Ting's flowers are dying, and birds are in chaos. Looking at the sky, going to the end of the world, wearing a plain moon, inviting broken bowstrings, broken heartbeats, broken hearts, ethereal hearts, grassy hearts in March, a quagmire, I hope to wear a sheath to entangle whose eyes. He went upstairs to unbutton his shirt, and the vast sea of clouds and waves sent a broken wall symbolizing freedom and freedom for thousands of years. Sheng Qiang lost weight and the world of mortals turned upside down. Who is holding your hand and escaping from the noise of the bonfire? Who cooks wine and laughs all his life? A thousand cups of flowers are hard to sell. A choppy hug. Thirty-eight years of summer solstice: The fox leaves the song: The river gradually disappears, the grass is Lian Heng, the sun is shining, the city is half willow, and the flute is abandoned. Green wax is full of rubies, and clothes are full of memories. Time goes back and forth, the screen is tilted, the light and shadow are stretched, the red paint is mottled, and the whole life is painted. The shadows under the lamp whitewash the memories of the old phonograph, a letter with folds and yellows, and a pen that outlines the eyebrows is circled. After a few sighs, he coldly watched several neon parting scenes, and he was still playing the bamboo horse play When You, My Love. He is still trapped in that dream many years ago. He quietly closes his clothes and sleeps, regardless of the morning and evening. He has played a drama in which joys and sorrows are not in harmony. The candlelight flickered all over the ground and he shook off the flowers. Who remembers that the people who saw off their dreams have not dispersed? Who will accompany me to watch the old play obsessively? Who will stop for me? Who accompanies me like clothes? The sound of swords and halberds in the world is hoarse. Who will teach you how to kill the seven gauze clothes outside the city? Blood spattered the white gauze. Enemy at the Gates's Sixth Army didn't send it. Who knows goodbye is life and death? I was caught in the red line at that time. The difference between a thousand turns and an idea is the scar of a marriage. Whose old scar can still drink tea quietly and crush this picture of bustling fireworks and blood-stained rivers and mountains? How can it be worse than a little cinnabar? It will always be just a prosperous game writing protocol. I just want to see you again and cry at the sound of the knife. The sword is dumb, and the tall building is dying. It means that the life-long murderer who calculates divination for you, Peach Blossom, is the most flawless * * * * painting building that bounces back to the West Bank. The warm air of pipa is everywhere. Who gave the soul and turned Hua Rong upside down? I refuse to say that I love folding flowers rather than childhood friends. In the end, it will always be you who divines. The moon shines on the earth. Finally, who got the silent noise in the arms of the war horse? The wind blew across the world and killed Hua Rong. After thanking Hua Rong, I climbed the Nine-Day Tower, watched the meteor whisper all night, and returned to that moment. The silence of the moon also makes people afraid that withered vines will grow branches. It turns out that time has gently brushed the dream. You stand upstairs, under the moon, with the same eyebrows. Brush off the snowflakes on your clothes and watch the vast world side by side. The bleak moonlight on the palm of the dragon's hand, which hurts and laughs, is looking forward to you. One side is the madness that you were born as a dragon. Remember that your name is Yan Huang, and the years are flowing quietly beside the broken blade of the battlefield. Twelve chapters tattooed. You look at the distance. The Yellow River and the Yangtze River, which are full of blood, are your innate publicity, with red walls and green tiles, leaving behind a yellow flower of tomorrow. In Chinese characters, pen and ink are warm and moist, and the expression passed down from generation to generation is a stroke. After thousands of years, the cheeks mottled with honor and disgrace, the soil that lead China has been sticking to, washed to death at your feet, and the eternal moonlight in your heart has been answered and will never look back. Standing here, I think of being born as a dragon. Remember me. The name is Feng Qi Lantian, Yan Huang. Lyrics/Copywriting: Finale Composition/Arranging/Singing: Hetu Female Voice: The fire of Ryutsuki lights up the sadness of the night city. When the city that never sleeps was broken, the horizon was weakening. At that glance, you smiled like a epiphyllum. The bloody wind tore the flag. The lights above the city finally went out. You can't see your head hanging high. The butterfly, burnt to ashes by contempt, broke its root, left and broke free from its eyes. The sad blood that was frozen before flows through the ears of the strip. After sobbing in the heavy rain for many years, the history page of this night has also been dyed into life. What you hear from death is like the end you see. The destruction you see, the gentlest and most decisive fall, has suddenly bid farewell to the swaying of the fading night, and all the sins have been washed away before dawn. Someone calls your name until your voice is hoarse. If the soul can feel the yellow land, you will never forget whether it is sunny or rainy. I have seen flowers bloom and fall, and I gradually recall the difference between joy and hate. The surname of Wangcheng has been rewritten. I'm still here waiting for the night to break out of the ashes and become a butterfly. It is fate that is as familiar as an illusion in reincarnation, burning through the sky, stars pouring horseshoes, crushing fallen leaves, and endless blood rolling down the dust, like a fleeting and intense time that is too far away, and like an imminent memory that cannot be seen. At the end of the wind, the buried bones and blood are still cold and early in the middle of the night, and the unfinished memories of cold and wandering are remembered. After the sun, the moon and cicada sang in the city, it was the first snow, and the drizzle stopped in the first season. Hide the old vows with the most plain words. Spring breeze is green. Through the willow leaves, you once smiled naively, walked across the wilderness against the wind, and forgot all your timidity before dawn. From then on, I will show you the world cloud with my eyes. Wan Li Mountain is at the end of the day, and the city is not at night. Vaguely, it is the white figure of the last quarter moon on the gate of the old times. The night is as clear as water. Lend me a moment to see you clearly. Flowers bloom behind you into snow, and the moonlight does not fade. Do you still have time to look back at me? I don't know. Is there a red cloud on the horizon or a flame you lit? What kind of life is the end? But I can't say goodbye. Is there still burning time? Is it a dust fate or a nightmare? Is it robbing ash or raising kitchen smoke? Which idea will not die? Nirvana or eternal life? Is it the end of your reincarnation? How long has it been since you stared at my face in the afterlife by Sandu River? How many times have I implanted the memory of Luo Rang's past life? How many 500 years have I walked in the world? Who can remember who was robbed by whom in the past? Who became obsessed? Are there any burnt-out years? Is it dusty fate or nightmare? Is it robbery or rising smoke? Which idea will last? Nirvana or eternal nostalgia? Starlight is the end of your reincarnation. How long have you been an eternal hourglass? I planted the face of life. How many parting memories of Luo Rang's past life can ignite the flame of the phoenix tree branches? How many years have I walked in the world? Who can remember who was robbed by whom in the past and who became its obsession? 00:00.79] Make way [00:03.40] [00:04.80] Production: Tsuzuka Studio [00] Singing: Hetu [00:12.39] [00:13.74] By the trailer 4/4. [00:37.6 1] Love Cross [00:4 1.44] Missing [00:44.49] [00:45.25] The trace of love has disappeared [00: 51.73] [0] Kloc-0/:24.22] [01:25.03] Is there still a trace of attachment on your disappearing horizon [01:32.77] [01:39.55] [03: 28]. Lonely autumn [03: 32.20] [01:44.13] I am still wandering at the end of the world [03:35.93][0 1:47.94] I send you my blessing every morning [03: 43.88]. You are not around [03:52.97][02:04.99] All blessings should be kept away from [03: 59.56] [02:11.62] [04: 00.32] [02:1. Very vague [04:24.96][02:36.62] I think I should learn to be happier [04: 30.78] [02: 43.24] [04: 31.97] [02: 44.06] and finally wake up [04: 35]. It's just that I make way for your happiness. The ending is like a flower: the final composition/arrangement/singing: He Tu He read the four books and five classics several times in the evening. It was her childhood friend who left her hanging. In the light, she set her eyes on the inky hairpin skirt and watched him study hard at the cold window for ten years. She vowed to go to the Golden Temple to send her lover to the ferry. She said she would wait for you all her life. She said that when I came first, I would live up to your eighteen years of gentleness. She stood at Xiaodukou for eighteen years. He slept on the lonely sail of Yue Ming Tower and walked leisurely. Take away all her joys and sorrows. The willows on the embankment can't hold the river running to watch the flowers bloom in spring. The autumn wind blows gently in Xia Na, and it snows in winter. Another year. She waited until people were thinner than yellow flowers. At night, she looked down at the lamp, looked down at a few clouds, broke the geese and blew away the west wind. How much do you miss him? Mo Yan under the lamp is the top scholar. When he gets dressed and goes back to China, wait another year. Who turned before straddling the horse? Order a glass of wine and ask in a low voice whose girl is as beautiful as flowers and pure as jade for whom 18 years. She has been at Xiaodukou Station for 18 years. She is very gentle. He slept on the lonely sail of Yue Ming Tower and took all her years with him. The willows on the embankment can't hold the river to watch the spring flowers and autumn wind blow, and Xia Na walks in winter snow year after year. She waited until the snow covered her forehead. After listening to the story, she was still waiting. The storyteller closed the fan and said, "From beginning to end, the sleeves were wet with tears." She walked through the small ferry on the embankment, and the scenery was as gentle as before, but the river never looked back.