"Southern Woman Drawer" outside the second song

"Let Go, Let Go of the Past"

I like an old man with a white beard

Many stories multiply in it

Many people passed in front of him and let him pay attention

He began to feel depressed, and every time it rained, he hid

Those heavenly taste buds, and his taste is terrible

There is also a bit of delusion, he is not as beautiful as me

Every time we meet, I talk nonsense, and he's mad at me

Even Zou Wen was squeezed out of tears

At this time, the lights are dim and the flow of people is slow

It's winter that slows down the flow of people, and anger is no longer certain

The best weather is good for stealing, and the motherland knows that I have bad intentions

What to do, let the past go, a wild horse

Covered with silky hair, the shepherds are still looking for it

Southern Woman Drawer

She may have coincided, very common coincidence

Walk through my window and take the rain away

And the neck, her long neck

Like the bridge in Hangzhou in the south, with a snowy scene, it is suitable for encounters

At this time she was close to my window, and she walked very fast

There is a city ahead, and some lights, every time you think

My soul was burning, and I was told not to do that

Don't read so many books, and don't walk so much

It's all bad, and it's all to be changed

Finally open the drawer and buy a lock, a Western lock

Put something in, just in time, at this time

The melancholy of the north fell into my drawer with a gust of wind

"Every time I dream, I put the quilt on"

I remembered the shadows outside the window, those sycamores

Every time it shakes, there are fallen leaves, depicting the arc

It wasn't until there was a sound in the room that I remembered something

Those pale and dwarf sights

There were a lot of people approaching me, and I hurried away

The rain is like my poetry

They are very pointed at both ends, please cut off the middle

I cut off the middle in order to penetrate into the hearts of the people

At twelve o'clock in the night, the sound is the most deeply rooted in people's hearts

The sound comes from the back alleys of the motherland, which is in line with the world's understanding of me

I covered the quilt and left a quilt as well

Arid dreams have arid riverbeds

The flower of the Marseillaise breathes inside

The World of Dream Poetry

As I walked, the scenery darkened

It is the light that darkens the landscape, makes men smaller, and women worse

When I left, I didn't leave anything

I only know a bunch of happiness, happiness after winter

It became dry and blown away by the wind

She said there weren't many people here, and she couldn't remember who they were

Her room, kept empty

And her single bed can send me back

Back in the dream, the janitor's eyes narrowed

I have harvested the whole world, and my plum garden is still there

There is poetry on it, half a century of poetry

Those fruits have experienced the first half of their lives when war and moonlight combined