Don't all the years come from that ancient poem?

Hello, time flies, from Garden Irrigation: Dressing the Queen.

Expansion: half-life, half-body injury, half-waking, half-drunk, half-cold, endless years of suffering, a glass of turbid wine lying in other countries.

Year after year, year after year, I met each other. Time flies, the years pass, just fade away, sighing the helplessness of life.

When we were young, our hopes slipped through our fingertips, always thinking that we had plenty of time. Today is over and there will be tomorrow. Inadvertently, time flies, and when we reach middle age, hope is still far away. In the blurred night, we slowly gave up our pursuit.