The first string of clean sound, a dream drunk for a thousand years. Tenderness and sweetness, pouring into lingering.

Meet, stroll in front of the court, in the red dust, and cook Qinghuan.

The second string of the clean sound, the wax moon is cold and the wind is cold. The grass is withered and the snow is drifting, and the plum is blooming and the sun is remnant.

Looking forward to it, the geese will return in winter and spring, but they will look at the sky.

The third string of the clean sound, the lonely shadow leans against the window. Lovesick and sad, chaotic and sad.

Infatuation, love to send the sky to the road thousands, between the eyebrows, and then read the gentleman's face.

The fourth string of clean sound, spring changes to Kunshan. Luan Feng is gone, and the clouds are leisurely.

Thousands of miles, sighing lightly for the four seasons in the world, no need to say, the vicissitudes of life.

The fifth string of clean sound, peach and plum apricot blossoms. Flying in front of the window, butterflies dancing.

Outside the curtain, the moon is clear and the water is murmuring. Looking at each other from afar, the sea is wide and the green mountains are wide.

The sixth string of clean sound, the moon reflects the water and clouds. Bright and gentle, don't be a fan.

Full, infinite thinking about the noise of the environment, the end of the world, the more Qinchuan is gone.

The seventh string of the clean sound, the wild goose is swirling northward. Pairs in pairs, meaning to cut and stretch.

Look again, the water dragonflies are picturesque, and in the pond, frogs and fish are happy.

The eighth string of clean sound, paving paper to give psalms. Lightly twisted plain paper, flooding with waves.

I wished, I told all the melancholy dance Moxuan, and I couldn't help it, and my words were interrupted.

The ninth string of the clean sound, the sad song tears wet clothes. A little heart, noisy to the moon.

The voice is slow, and I am displaced, heartbroken, haggard and delicate.

The tenth string of clean sound, lingering around the gauze curtain. The candlelight is dim, and the lonely figure is alone.

Who's with you? Crying and tears fell into the shirt, the green silk was messy, and the sorrow was extended.

The clear sound is eleven strings, and the pillow is even more sleepless. The moon is still through the window, and the melancholy eyebrows are between the eyebrows.

In the cold night, the sorrowful eyes were full of tears, and the intestines were broken, and the sorrow was added.

The twelve strings of clean sound, the years sigh for years. Impermanence, bittersweet and bittersweet.

Misconceptions, infatuation, deep weeping, sadness, and secretly groaning.

Thirteen strings of clean sound, walking to look at the Tianshan Mountain. Snow lotus blooms, straight into the clouds.

Amazing, the cliffs and cliffs are proud, and there is no need to be afraid, the cold peaks.

Fourteen strings of clean sound, the Western Regions race Jiangnan. The ancient road of Loulan is traversal and meandering.

That is, the desert beach has become a fertile field, with beautiful scenery, clear water and blue sky.

Fifteen strings of clean sound, sunset and sunset. Eternal and unchanging, smoke in the distance.

Let's see, the clouds are clear, the wind is clear, and the fog is even, and it was once there, and the curtain fell and rippled.

Sixteen strings of clean sound, looking at the cemetery. The thought of parting from the soul has turned into smoke.

The intestine is broken, and I am looking for relatives by the bridge in my dream, but I can continue the front edge.

Seventeen strings of clear sound, sighing the past like smoke. Looking back, I don't see my face.

Missing, sleepless all day long, but helpless, and reminiscing about the Chinese year.

Eighteen strings of clean sound, don't ask what year it is. The green silk is around the wrist, and the frost and fog are cold.

In the dream, the infatuation is mistakenly paid to the old fate, and it is difficult to argue, and love and hate are entangled.

Nineteen strings of clear sound, silent to the moon. The willow branches are swaying, and the drizzle is murmuring.

Silent night, the autumn wind outside the window is cold, bleak dreams, and the pillow is wet and difficult to dry.

Twenty strings of clean sound, holding a pen to write flower remnants. The leaves fall in the depths of autumn, and I want to entangle with the phoenix.

sighed, a few paragraphs of red dust are like dreams, it has been difficult to tell, and the soul has dreamed for thousands of years.

The clear sound is twenty-one strings, and the paper and ink are lightly studied. Candle chanting shallow, three thousand words.

Continue, a few times the book Danqing pen, who understands? It's hard to break sentences.

Clean sound twenty-two strings, don't dream of drunk flowers. The west wind dances vigorously and blows through the thin shirt.

It's cold, the water is far away, and the mountains are high, how can you be happy? Sighing softly, at a loss.

The clear sound is twenty-three strings, and the purple Mo dances with a red face. Wait a little longer, leaning lightly on the railing.

Helpless, tears wet the sleeves of his shirt, heartbroken, and a thousand words.

The clear sound is twenty-four strings, and the lamp tells the relationship. One song after another, it is hard to speak.

Complaining, several degrees of spring and autumn and several degrees of cold, far away, tightly locked between the eyebrows.

Clear twenty-five strings, flipping through the old psalms. Thousands of chapters and volumes, it is difficult to find the past.

sighed, the night rain is lonely and sleepless, the heart is gray, and it has gone through many years.