(Goth, in the first season, Manzhu and Shahua smelled bright minor injuries, and I smelled the fragrance of sunshine. A long harp is full of unexpected memories under the indulgence of Manzhu Shahua's singing. What's the ending here? I smell bright minor injuries. I smelled the fragrance of sunshine, lifted the silvery holy grail, and put aside the holy light of your clear face. I played a sad song and opened the dusty window of Notre Dame. You must be looking for heaven there. I smell bright minor injuries. You must be looking back at my dear. Do you still remember my appearance and the vicissitudes of time? I'm waiting for you to come home. Black Datura flowers crawl at my feet. When my soul is off track, why doesn't it match your eyes? I smell the fragrance of moonlight and the corrosive black gas around me. Wine-red blood has irrigated the abyss with the desire to laugh at blood. Dear people, do you still remember the distance that the white dove was brought closer by it? The distance here smells the coolness of night, and I smell the fragrance of moonlight. Your outline is like the fragrance under the laurel tree, lurking among the stars, gently cutting my chest. The white forgotten Sichuan flower lies quietly in front of my grave in the breath of death, trying to be as seductive as two distant constellations. I smell the heartbreak of moonlight, and I smell the holy fragrance. My heart was built as an empty wall. No one can ring the silent times. Who was left in the quiet night? The strange voice of the soul sings and poeticizes a sad heart that smells the moonlight. Smelling the sacred fragrance makes my heart ache. Ask the little flower lying on my chest with a broken neck. Will it be sad? Honey, you can't touch me. This is a kind of mourning. When I melted the flowers on the other side into the rotten soup, I threw my memory into the void like the past. Dear, my poem-I miss you inadvertently like heartbroken moonlight. Now everything has become a grave, interrupted at the end. Who will interpret the half-time story? I just want to say goodbye. You are very beautiful. On the street corner, the beautiful manzhu passed by the cool flowers-the second season-the glistening flowers bloomed at the end of the world to punish the exiles. In the secular world, the expression is instantly fixed as innocence. Its tears fell without waves. How to erase its lonely guardian is a lifelong concern. The script that has been written is a premeditated fate. The evil God is imprisoned in a dark hell. The night is surrounded by it and covered with blood. The dazzling light lingers on the edge of the cliff and penetrates it. The resentment that evaporates and fills the whole sky can't struggle. Falling off the cliff made the abyss perfect, but it left dazzling flowers and leaves. The intoxicating smell is very strong. The river is cold and desperate, expecting revenge, but soft-hearted and silent. Singing sad love songs in the corner, seeing the dawn torn, sadness is an empty and absurd reason to corrode the wounds in the depths of reason, forgetting the pain, only memories are waiting on the other side, waiting for the warmth of spring, and looking back at the brilliant flowers and leaves in the quiet moonlight. Bright, but why is it still so cool and beautiful? Love has given up the deep sorrow of struggle and buried everything in the spring season. In the third season, the flowers on the other side opened their red and black coats and hugged the red puppet. The blood dragged on the ground grows wantonly, dragging in the distance, looking at the endless sad boy. All this is embedded in his tearful eyes, and the cursed love will not die. The appearance of cowardice determines it. Strong blue sadness can't wash away the red puppet show in the past. There is an oath that they will stick to love and sing. There will be a flowering place on the other side. Memories will bloom there, and the abandoned beauty will be taken back in the muddy eyes of the old man, waiting to wither, turning into pain, hatred and revenge. I want to find him, even if he has changed, even if he once swore so loudly. I want to find him, even if the truth is true. I found him pale, but I left in a hurry. He has left the tombstone, and the tears I remember are still unwilling to understand the truth. I have gouged out my eyes and wandered alone on the dark tombstone, but the name on the other side of my mind is still so beautiful. In the past, everything seemed to mean death. Remember the oath: Wherever you go, flowers will still guide me to your direction. I saw you on the bridge. My back disappeared out of sight, and I was awakened by your grave. The wailing in the first dream was all about me as a living person. In the fourth season, the silent song of midnight opened its disordered vines, and the skirt bewitched by the deep purple romantic wind was lost in the turmoil of the stars on the moonlit night. A bustling landscape provoked the waiting time and hid it in the delicate face of dense branches. Who is waiting for the door of love to open its messy vines? The companion bewitched by the purple romance embraced and danced with the elf, singing, turning and turning, always claiming that the place where Louis XIV was born was Aphrodite's wild dream hiding aside, and the rich fragrance fascinated by the purple romance eavesdropped on the loud and scattered oath of extravagant imagination. It blooms in the right place and wakes up with a beautiful spirit. It sings softly, imagining the delicate midnight time stretching in the direction pointed by the index finger. Where is the rise and fall of the night and the moon? Open the disordered vines, the flowers imprisoned by dark bitterness and frustration are scattered aside, and the boundaries crossed are confused. Every dead night in the bay that can't fly, I listen to the sad voice flowing shallowly in the endless gray, opening the chaotic vines. Being imprisoned in the dark bitterness and eternal agreement made me indifferent and forgetful. Gentle and cold palms off his face. Who put the frozen heart in the corner to open the disordered vines? Being imprisoned in a dark and gloomy place, why is it so cool and corrupt? Who remembers the sadness of memory, the imagination that has been sleeping for 10,000 years, opening deep eyes and understanding how time is corrupt-the opening after the end of the fifth season, listening to the lily flowers, I saw a beam of light dancing lightly, and faith is a wonderful memory where it shines. As long as there is your shadow, I will always listen to the lily flowers behind me, and I see a beam of light dancing lightly. Because the rain blooms in the brightest front, dear, look at the drizzle with an umbrella. Listening to the snowflakes beating, I don't feel a trace of cold. Your clear face is like the bright sunshine in the forest, gently surrounding me. Dear, when the traffic lights are on, the wine is red in your face and the fragrance is floating in the middle, do you look into my eyes, too? Where you are, Aphrodite's index finger points to the brightest place, and the elves are whispering about the quilt. Listening to the snowflake beating, I don't feel a trace of coolness. On July 7th, Sunny was the elf's favorite song, which sealed a small flower with a broken neck for many years. It says it's not broken anymore. Dear, lift the rusty pen unintentionally and put it gently on the paper, like the fragrance of lily floating to your place. The story was over, and you lit a new chapter for me. You are the bright sunshine, and I am the sadness of the haze, colliding in the most romantic street. I miss you from now on, because you are not around.
O(∩_∩)O~ There seems to be a lot of ... brains. ...