Slow voice

-------- - Mu Yi

The front sound is still present, the sorrow is boundless, and the water clouds and summer talk about the sky waves.

Frowning his brows, he was sad and far away.

Shameful but different, how lonely, lonely words.

I hate this again, and I talk about the old things, and the years have passed.

Just to say the language of flowers, the wind listens to the geese, and the fallency.

The yellow flowers of the sun are worried, and the autumn river is falling.

This time I talked to myself, a few pity, and turned the rhyme into a song.

But Dao Na, sue the Yi people, can Nai geometry.