The millennium past is more intense, and a sad song is the same as you in your dreams.
Tears in my heart, love in my dreams, reminiscing about the bright moonlit night in the old days, like smoke in the past, is unbearable.
In the dream, the green mountains are gone, and the white hair in the mirror goes with the wind, still remembering the old days.
Passing by the clouds, vaguely remembering the old people, lovesickness turned into a dream at the end of the world.
It seems that back then, the endless past of lovesickness went with the wind and turned into clouds.
It's like smoke, time is gone, and a song from the south of the Yangtze River is vaguely gone.
Tears flowed, and several soul dreams recalled where the old people were, and the smoke passed in front of me.
I was speechless and tearful in my dreams, and the past went with the wind, another year.
Reminiscing about the old days is sad and lonely, looking back at the past and sighing, lovesickness turns into a thousand lines of tears, sprinkled with many dreams in the world.
Like smoke for a moment, I vaguely remember the old days, turn into a thousand tears, and I am haunted by Moon Bay in my dreams.
The rain is like sorrow, crying, a thousand tears, and the sub-rules cry to break through thousands of worries.
The dawn is about to dawn, the wind and blood are not dry, red like fire, and the rain is like smoke during the Qingming season.
Sixty years of bloody rain and bloody wind, tears flowed, spring will be old, and it is the ancestors of the Qingming Festival.
The sound of the cuckoo is clear and drizzling, and a few sub-rules can't stop crying, and they sacrifice to the spring platform with all their hearts.
The apricot blossoms bloom in the season, the cuckoos are full of tears, where to send the blood, and the sub-rules cry out of the dream.
The black magpie cries the old tree, weeps the remnant sun, does not dissociate from people's minds, and still calls for broken intestines from Qingming.
The king of Jinling is full of blood and blood, Yan Zhao is crying in a sad song, the cuckoo is red like fire in March, and the rain is miserable in the Qingming Festival.
Smelling the cuckoo, the sound can't stop crying in the Qingming season, and the sun is shining all over the sky.
It's a drizzly day again, tears are pouring down, and who can sue with all your hard work, turning into scars with paper money.
The sound of spring is late, the remnant sun is like blood staining green branches, the cuckoo is not dissociated, and the Qingming is not over.
At the beginning of the rain, it is the Qingming Festival to worship the ancestors, crying the night moon, whose children's blood is congealed.
In the Qingming season, the cuckoo sounded three or two times, red as blood, and it was difficult to break the dream of Zigui.
When the swallow returns, the blood-stained peach blossoms and azaleas are red like fire, and the talents are sacrificed.
The blood-stained maple forest flowers are like fire, the warbler cries willow shore and the moon is like a hook, and the cuckoo is not dissociated, and it is still clear and sorrowful.
The flowers are red, the spring of the swallow dance is good in the Qingming season, and the blood-stained mountains and rivers are majestic.
In the drizzle of the Qingming Festival, the cuckoos were hazy with tears in their voices, Zigui wept blood and mourned, and the spring sacrifice was strong.
The mountains and rivers are majestic when the moon sets, and the rhododendrons sacrifice the heroic spirits in the season.
Shi Chong crown blood, yellow bird mourning rhododendrons, sacrifice to the sage.
The spring breeze cries cuckoos, and the rain is like smoke during the Qingming Festival, and the sound can't be stopped, like blood and remnants of the sun sprinkled all over the sky.
Qingming sacrificed to the ancestors, tears flowed, full of blood and no way to complain, empty traces accompanied by paper money.
At dusk again, according to the tear stains, the cuckoo sounded and the rain hit the door.
Crying red Nanpu tree, I can't stop crying in the Qingming season, and I turn into acacia with blood.
When it drizzles during the Qingming Festival, the tears in the sound are like silk, and the spring breeze turns into a thousand wisps of idiocy in the world.
One night, the east wind swallows build a new nest, and the mountain flowers are full of rhododendrons.
Empty and lonely, butterflies wander by themselves, swallows fly away, and fall asleep.
Ten thousand trees in the south of the Yangtze River, dyed red glow, mud swallows east wind is my home.
The mud swallow builds a new home, all things are gorgeous, the azalea is red like fire, and the peach and plum in the garden are as bright as flowers.
The east wind fills the sky overnight, the swallows return to find their old home, and Mo Dao cries blood in the spring.
Crying the sunset, the rain urging the flowers, the double flying, the east wind to my house.
I often see each other before the moon before the flower, I vaguely smell the cuckoo in my dream, the swallow returns to the spring and goes, and the east wind will send you back.
The swallows between the beams are cold alone, and the sound of the cuckoo has not been returned to the court.
The mountains are green, the willows are bright, Mo Dao is full of spring flowers, and the cuckoo is also affectionate.
Don't cry and follow the cuckoo to fall, worry about where the swallow will go, don't complain to the east wind about the sunset.
In the spring, the cuckoo cries blood and tears, and the old owner of the mud swallow Dongfeng.
The sun has been slanted, the east wind is old in the night, and the interpretation of flowers.
Everything is new, swallows nest diligently, and peach, willow and green rhododendrons cry blood.
Spring will be old, butterflies do not come when people are lonely, and the rain is dry.
A river of spring water cuckoos can't stop crying, returning in the drizzle, lovesickness.
The swallows return for another spring, the east wind blows the green willow new, the cuckoo cries blood, and the flowers fall and people die without hearing it.
Send warmth to the end of the world, swallows build my house with mud, the garden is full of flowers, and the cuckoo cries blood and stains the red glow.
Zheng Huixian Zheng Huixian Chinese art