Tell me about those people who want to sleep but are too noisy to sleep.

Lonely city is sleepless, south of the city, the starry sky is blurred, the soul of flowers is free, lilacs are scattered all over the floor, as white as frost, listening to the flowers falling and the wind blowing. The hair is lingering in the heart, deeper and cooler. Sitting in the lotus pond, the clouds are moving, the moon is bright, frogs are singing, the wind is blowing, the piano is playing long, the face is soft, the broken reflection, the mottled moonlight and the lonely figure.