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A person, a city, distressed for a lifetime.

A person, a city, distressed for a lifetime.

The walls depict dreams and kites fly by. In the past, the town was fragrant and wandering alone. I want to talk to Yao Qin, but I have few intimate friends. Who will listen to a broken string?

Flowers fall by themselves, and the evening fragrance cries at night. Deep makeup, silent tears dry Wan Li's heart. The flowers are wet and the mountains are covered with dead snow.

A small town in the Tang Dynasty dreamed of a beautiful trip. Frost and dawn summon the sadness of spring. The wind blows the yellow sand, blowing it into a desert that has permeated for thousands of years, and guarding the empty city alone for ten years of long meditation.

The dusk of the Ming dynasty has become strange. The sky is full of stars, piercing acacia. Fingertips quicksand, leaking through the years. Half leaning on the porch building, under the ghosting of the moon, the night scene is bleak. Ask songs and wine, and tears will not stop.

The curtain is covered, the harp is broken, and the candle shadow is shaken. Night west wind, broken string ensemble, another song. The empty rainy season masks the prosperity. Don't go to the north city, turn back to amber. Xicheng tactic, turning around for a lifetime is glazed white.

A person, pour a cup to help you get drunk. Attic platform, the moon is cold, tears flow first. See the dead snow without a trace, and the fallen flowers are silent. Snow pours cold plum, Sima qinglan. Alone in an empty city, my heart is haggard.

Drawing sand in my dream, the kite died. The city of Hunan lacks the moon and is sparse. Eve is like water on a stranger, and the fragrance of purple dogwood is slow. Pear blossoms shine on the moon, fragrant, wine poured out, and the west wind is drunk alone.

Elegance refers to quicksand, and old age is a period of time. After leakage, silent winter pillow, tears fly. Looking at the unbreakable mirror and the smoke between your fingers, the Millennium in the world is like a flash in the pan. For whom the oath is buried, for whom the dust is covered, and the temples are like frost.

Who buried all tenderness yesterday? Lonely and melancholy. The past remains the same, and it's hard to go back. After Hua Rong died, it became a scene. The mountains and rivers are always silent, and the small town is always half-broken.

A decaying small town in the Tang Dynasty has passed away. Who can reward it? A city ballad that can't be sung without sadness can't be passed down forever. In an instant, the flowers fell and the new branches were scattered all over the floor.

As soon as the rosewood came out, people left. Flowers covered by years become blank. Sighed several generations of joys and sorrows, passed by, dreamed back to the water, and watched the fireworks bloom into a full moon.

When the fog cleared, I woke up and finally caught a glimpse of the truth. It was the silence after Qian Fan's death. The wind of Independence River is sinking. I want to turn around. It's raining.

The dust settled and the song ended. Who is responsible for her hand? Who won the beauty and traveled around the world with her?

At both ends of life, we stood on each other's shore. Shallow wound, pen, negative. After the prosperity, it turned out to be the curtain of dreams.

A person alone in an empty city is no longer prosperous, and gorgeous city rumors eventually become scars on each other. A city ballad, without a trace, turns time into a blank. Look at the story of a broken town. A kite flies by and an idiot talks alone.

A person, a city, distressed for a lifetime.

I have more than 30, great, great, call me ~ ~