Qinghai. I just want to crawl in your arms, like grass in winter.
Quietly waiting for a snow to wash away the dirt in your heart.
If you can keep the blue sky, a gentle heart. Maybe the dark clouds will pass.
The moon will rise on the grass and herds of Tibetan antelopes will appear.
Will open their purity. Eyes, bite slowly.
Every day is getting more and more boring.
Will love come on time? Covered with cliffs like flowers
Who is the fairy tale in the story? I will choose some lofty distant mountains and clear running water.
Fall on your forehead, or pick some sunshine.
Boil a pot of wine, open the bamboo slips of the Western Han Dynasty and listen to the sound of hooves.
Go through the wilderness of thought and have a drink.
In my eyes, there are large tracts of snow fields and eagles on the plateau.
Cycle season after season.
Like a lotus flower, it blooms in life.
My love is the love of mountains and rivers.
Life is not full of color.
I imagine you as a lotus flower.
No demon, no charm, graceful and pure planting
I know Zhu Shazhi like the back of my hand.
I know, at that time, it was like there was no color.
My love is love for the earth.
There are no ambiguous surprises in time.
I imagine you as a lotus flower.
Without branches and vines, the fragrance is far and clear.
Like a strand of hair on my forehead.
I know, at that time, there were no surprises in love.
Because, when and where, like and love.
Both are the same flowers.
A flower branch is brilliant, like you.
A flower blooms in the sun, just like me.
Even at this moment, I have run out.
A lifetime's effort