There was another one yesterday.
Hand-picked paper drops
Crisp years fall in the Milky Way.
Mo Chi on the table has dried up.
The words written that day have been covered with dust
The open book is still on that page.
I counted the torn calendars one by one.
Memories one after another.
My friend asked me: Why not tear it off and throw it away?
We always spend every day like this.
Trash cans, incinerators
No memory, no ancestors.
Yesterday's 5,000-year civilization
It stinks in the sewer.
Some people always say, only you.
I always wanted to go.
How did Lao Lin become a bald mountain?
How did the old village become a ghost village?
Even the bones of our ancestors
That's true.
Went to the sewer
Maybe it was salvaged somewhere.
Make it a leader
A table of delicious food
Or a feast without chopsticks.
Into a huge invoice.
Taxes will become an empty shell.
My poor people
Still believe what people say.
Step on the bones of your ancestors and count the money.
I let out a kind of pain tonight.
Hand-picked paper drops
Tear up yesterday, you can't lose it.