A thousand years of wandering dreams, broken clouds, looking forward to a thousand years. No one will be sad when you leave. Who is looking forward to a thousand years? The tears you left were covered with blood, and Huang Sha's voice was hoarse. I don't know when I can look back at the peach blossoms and bamboo shadows. Who can remember the long dream of an old friend, and who can forget the long corridor temple? Who is sad at both sideburns? Who remembers that it was just a fleeting time, when Xia Guang played his flute loudly and his memory was sad? Who is wandering on the moon? A thousand years ago, there were still surviving memories, and the wind blew away, soft and long (a thousand years). Who is worried about the moon (the memory is melancholy, the time is in a hurry, and people's temples are like frost)? Looking back, it is hurting a lonely person who has been dead for thousands of years.