The end of the world, the love of children.

The moon is shining, and the road is icy.

A city of rain, a dream, alone with your back.

The heart of the prodigal son, who will understand? Raise a glass to appreciate the bronze mirror, and the wine red sprinkles with zero.

The rivers and lakes hate, and the heart is frosty.

People are ruthless, and the sword is cold.

A bell, a sitting monk, whose past are you reciting?

At the end of the story, the camel bell is broken. Sigh for a false name, and look forward to the fate of a lifetime.