The first song is Tayu Lo's song of the same name, and the lyrics are as follows:
Spring blossoms, autumn wind and winter dusk, melancholy youth, I once thought so in ignorance. The windmill circulates in the songs of the four seasons every day. Four seasons, I grow year by year. It takes away the story of time and changes a person's youthful sadness and the first-time waiting photos, old letters and faded Christmas cards. I'm afraid you have forgotten the song I wrote for you when I was young. Past vows are like colorful bookmarks in that textbook, depicting many beautiful poems, but after all, it is a stream of smoke and water that takes away the story of time and changes the distant journey, yesterday's dream and distant laughter of two people in that passionate first tearful youth. How far did we walk before we met again? I'm no longer familiar with the old crazy dreams, and neither are you. You still have a smile and water, which took away the story of time and changed our sad first memories of youth.
The second song:
I'm on the bridge.
You are under the starlight.
I am on the roof.
You are behind a distant mountain.
I am downstairs.
You are in the autumn wind
I'm at the water's edge
You are in the waves.
You are raindrops
Snuggle up in my hands.
You are an angel.
Spread your wings in my dream
You are a string of smiles over the years.
Growing up in my tired heart
You are a warm flower.
Diffuse in my hazy eyes
When I'm awake
You are in the past.
When I'm lonely
You are in the song.
When I am writing at my desk
You are black and white.
(of vivid characters in a picture or a novel) seems to be vividly portrayed.
When I wander around
You are the one in the blurred night sky.
A familiar sigh
Stupid stare.
I squinted at the window.
When you look up,
You are in the bright moonlight again.
I just don't know
Guanghanshuxia
Was it planted?
Acacia in full bloom forever
You are an ethereal boat after all.
Dressed in white
Stay away gloomily
But have you ever seen the coast?
Reluctantly say goodbye
Grass separation
Have you heard of it?
Someone is crying silently for you.
When I wake up tomorrow,
Maybe we've forgotten.
The time we spent together.
The Story of Time
The third song:
On a night without the moon and stars
Rain glided across an eager face.
Feminine in the light, familiar and unfamiliar scene.
An old movie that is interpreted as shaky and twisted.
The wind blew through the birch forest last night.
I saw a bird singing softly.
The other is silence.
Some words are destined to sting.
The human mind. Some are instantaneous fireworks.
When the curtains are wet with endless rain
Who tried to walk from the overpass to the next corridor?
In fact, touching these eternal cries of light and shadow
Is to touch the deeper emptiness. all
There is a different paradise.
Songs in the dark go their own way, just like
A grass in the corner repeatedly
Many years. Like my favorite lonely crane in the clouds.
On such a night.
Everyone sleeps like a baby.
They don't need rain or the moon.
There is something that makes it easier for them to overcome difficulties.
Visible or invisible, held or isolated.
This has nothing to do with love. They walked through many overpasses.
Accustomed to dragging each other into the flood
And make up for lost time.
They often sleep soundly.
In the end, it is just a small drop of rain.
Save money. Round. Struggle and fall
Thought it was moonlight, but it was.
One day, we will look at each other in pairs.
Awe is the pace of time.
Your eyes are close to me along the river.
Perhaps the only noble sadness in this century.
Missing time is better than being alone on the shore and listening to the surging river.
People come and go on the overpass. Whose hometown is it?
Long silhouette in the moonlight, a pair of warm hands.
Help us cross the street at night.
In fact, the waiting after the prosperity is cleaner and purer.
A drop of water whispers or listens in the wind.
It flies downward and upward.
When we look at each other in the future.
It's just the clothes of dreams sung in time stories
The fourth song:
How many years of stories.
I'll never finish.
How many dreams of love?
There is only one promise left in a blink of an eye.
Pick a yellow flower
Have you read Spring?
Have mercy.
Write a beautiful poem
Count the days day by day.
It's like drawing a circle
I never know the beginning.
I can't find the end.
It's a fading season.
Or is life without inspiration?
The yellow backpack is opened again and again.
But it always seems like the boring words of childhood.
I can't recite it at all.
Is love just the beginning?
Never find the ending.
It's like a memory of the past
Will eventually become sharp fragments.
Every touch
Will cut your finger.
I can feel pain.
But I can never piece together the past.
The fifth is a set of poems:
1
Please wake up in February and open it.
Black eyes like peas
Looking at my dear hometown from a distance
When the village was still dreaming.
Sleep soundly in folk stories and legends while the dawn is still there.
Before people hear about it.
Music and poetry
The messenger came from afar, just for show.
Bright forehead
2
Please wash the yarn in March.
The fog hasn't dispersed yet, so the door won't open.
The shallow river is twisted like your waist.
At dawn, the first ray of sunshine opened the window.
Light up half of me.
Light up half a happy me.
You washed the white stone whiter.
The last crow of the chicken, the song you prayed for.
Collect baskets full of dew
three
Please break the wicker in April
Let the green swallows hurt the chest of spring.
By the flowers and fences in the early morning
Don't forget, an agreement that has not been fulfilled so far.
We exchanged gifts and never saw each other again.
Like a pair of nameless antlers.
Buried deep underground, playing silently.
On the beautiful blue porcelain bowl
Banpo and Hemudu, you and I, cry.
four
Please leave a line of footprints in May.
Please take the leaves off your body.
This flap is a lip borrowed by human beings.
Let them meet the first gust of wind in the morning
Sing back to freedom
Even the smallest and loneliest leaves.
Will also have its own green sovereignty.
Listen, poor and enthusiastic singer, singing without strings.
Just hit a red heart.
five
In June, please sing the lost folk songs.
Kicked a pebble from the lyric era.
Come deeply, come shallowly
Like a brunette.
A pair of white teeth were exposed to the sun.
The cockscomb is your vulgar sister.
Sunflower is your warm sister.
Whether you have beautiful clothes or not.
Open your hands, it is a pair of broken flower wings.
six
Please recite my sonnet in July.
Those straightforward poems
Maybe it will disappoint you and make you feel that you are not beautiful enough.
In this era of hypocrisy.
I don't know how many people are just keen on looking good)
Maybe it will make you cry.
Fundamentally move your proud young heart.
Like bundles of sincere sunshine.
Sink vertically into the roof of human beings
seven
Blue sky, yellow land
Please come back in the evening of August.
Please transport the beautiful jade in your arms back to the mountains.
Riding a legendary white pony faster than time.
Cross the Qiantang River and wade through the stream.
Back to the empty valley where there will never be an echo.
Let a osmanthus tree rain like rain.
Wash the dust off your body.
Let a crescent moon, like a sickle, reap the ancient sadness.
eight
In September, white stones rolled down the hillside.
Which hawthorn are you lying under?
Open the lost song in the sheepskin book
Dreaming of a white-haired father in heaven
Under which white cloud did you wake up?
Looking at the hill: Oh, more hawthorn, one by one.
Just like the torch of inner loneliness, it is difficult to extinguish.
White stones rolled down the hillside.
Please drive the frightened sheep back to the sheepfold!
nine
Please lean on the column in October.
Deep hope, warm memories
Quiet and comfortable like sunshine.
Everything is greeting each other.
Everything is a mutual blessing.
There is nothing temporary in the world!
Please lift your warm face under the clean sky.
Like a homesick sunflower, whispering.
"There is no other way home except love."
10
1 1 month, frost flashes everywhere.
Like the salt in the morning in the old song.
Crying like a black crow all night;
Oh, foreign land, broken silver everywhere.
The country with cracked lips said nothing.
The strange dawn is like a small format gospel.
Slowly open at the seventh dawn
Heartbroken people are at the end of the world
Your eternal flute urges the postman's steps.
1 1
Snowflakes fall like one last dance.
The feast of simulated heaven
A wandering soul is celebrating its own festival.
And you will be naked and completely transparent.
Give birth to yourself like a naive baby.
Your warm knee is against my numb knee.
Your beautiful words lit the flame of my sadness.
Holy music overflows like water.
Father, he wrote to us.
12
Please put your hand in that strange hand.
Please listen carefully to the March bell.
Please bless and pray for brothers and sisters all over the world.
With the last blooming marigold
Spectacular fountains and flames in St. Martin's Square
The mystery and vastness collected with one heart
Even a simple mind.
Only you are the immortal theme of this song.
Only you are the real ending of this story.