Into a poem ("Fire Like a Song" TV series ending song) - Di Lieba / Mao Buyi

Words: Duan Sisi

Music: Tan Xuan

Arranger: Lei Li

Producer: Tan Xuan

Guitar: Zhao Qin

Dizi: Zhang Qing

String Orchestra: Principal International Philharmonic Orchestra

Recording engineer: Ma Tao

Mixing: Li Zhuo

Backing Vocals: Qiu Zhiling

Recording Studio: Tan Xuan Music Studio

Producer: Tan Xuan

Producer: Shanghai Tan Xuan Music Studio

Woman:

It is often said that the end of the earth is the end of the earth

Every step of the way is poor

Why exhaust

I can't stand this lovesickness

The frost melts into words, and the flowers bloom to write poems

But I am not good at it

Man:

Who sent me to the cold winter down

When spring is warm

Once it is nullified, life and death are nullified

Feihong crosses the snow to chase the sun and add white silk

The pain came to an abrupt end

Love is a thorn in the tip of the finger

Woman:

Say a few words for my heart

Shallow lovers don't know

I can't go to this fire and feathers

Almost idiot

Man:

If you only promise to snap your fingers here

I'm afraid of wasting my life

If you don't bathe in fire, you can't make a poem

Woman:

It is often said that the end of the earth is the end of the earth

Every step of the way is poor

Why exhaust

I can't stand this lovesickness

The frost melts into words, and the flowers bloom to write poems

But I am not good at it

Man:

Who sent me to the cold winter down

When spring is warm

Once it is nullified, life and death are nullified

Feihong crosses the snow to chase the sun and add white silk

The pain came to an abrupt end

Love is a thorn in the tip of the finger

Woman:

Say a few words for my heart

Shallow lovers don't know

I can't go to this fire and feathers

Almost idiot

Man:

If you only promise to snap your fingers here

I'm afraid of wasting my life

If you don't bathe in fire, you can't make a poem

Woman:

In this upside-down and troubled world

I don't know the shallow lover

I can't see through this fire and feather

Almost idiot

Man:

Immersed in the mountains, rivers, lakes and seas, burned in pen and paper

Write about you again

If you don't bathe in fire, you can't make a poem

How to make a poem without bathing in fire[1]