I will take my simple home with me.
Make a travel-stained backpack and bid farewell to mom's tombstone.
On a pale moonlit night, a tearful journey on the road. I never looked back once.
Dare not look back year after year.
Time flies, the nourishment of wind and rain, accustomed to tears and learned to climb high and look far.
Glittering beetles appeared in droves in the sprawling building.
Shuttle through the edge of the city
It is also like enjoying the scenery of Europe and Asia and facing the crowd like ants.
I am in the position of snail.
Crawling in every alley and alley
Let the wind and rain wash away the scarred face and let Ren Qinghui wipe all over the body.
It's not easy to get through red lights and green wine.
Through all the colorful colors
And my figure is destined not to be obese and not to grow tall.
The hard work of generations.
Dry up in my body into a hard riverbed, my faith and spirit.
Overflow from the crowded city and drift away from all beings.
Standing alone in the desolation
Like an eternal road lamp.
Really, I'm sorry for my distant relatives, and I'm sorry for the failed malt and beer.
Forgive me, mom.
The milk that feeds my life stands at the window of the city.
When I woke up, I saw the uplift zone, which should be the tall and straight backbone of my hometown, the wings soaring into the sky, shaking the desire of the village to take off and the green vegetable fields.
Rich orchards, beautiful images and a black and transparent' Jingquan' are always embedded in the edge of the night.
Tempting my eyes all my life, I want to become a swimming fish, stationed in your quiet harbor. Dense crops filled the ravines of the years, and a beautiful home accompanied me all the way.
Let the stubble hunt with the wind, let the skull be surrounded as thin as firewood, and let the rational liquid and stubborn genes penetrate the colorful flashing pores like the fire of thought.
Then bare your ankles
Running around the edge of the network on the cracked asphalt road
Chasing the car waves on a par.
Face the sea
Chewing the sacred fruit of survival of the fittest, the wind at the foot of the city is clicking on the scenery along the way at high speed, showing a ferocious mask. I must find a post office to catch my breath.
Where is the wandering habitat?
The hardened soil is under your feet, and the dizzy light is ahead. We can't go backwards, let alone stagnate. I know that stagnation means the horizon of death and the horizon of sunset
Home is a sign with gentle eyes.
Inspire me to cross the restricted area in a rough life.