2. Lyrics: The yellowed Spring Festival couplets are still on the wall.
I can vaguely see a few words: Peace through the years.
In my hometown, Migang, where I have never been back.
Grandpa wrote a whole letter in regular script.
Pueraria lobata is covered with carved doors and windows.
The setting sun slanted on the mottled brick wall.
The room covered with beech boards is still full of air.
Grandma brewed the bean paste that year.
I began to imagine in black and white photos.
The appearance of mom and dad.
A soft-spoken Wunong girl.
Walk slowly across the Bund.
The lost old days, 1943.
On the way to recall, time becomes so slow.
An alley in the old neighborhood.
It is a kind of faint sadness, belonging to the white wall and black tile of that era.
The lost old days, 1943.
Looking back, there was some wind and frost in the clip.
Old turntables, old suitcases.
In an iron box full of postcards.
Hide a rose petal.
Pueraria lobata is covered with carved doors and windows.
The setting sun slanted on the mottled brick wall.
The room covered with beech boards is still full of air.
Grandma brewed the bean paste that year.
I began to imagine in black and white photos.
The appearance of mom and dad.
A soft-spoken Wunong girl.
Walk slowly across the Bund.
The lost old days, 1943.
On the way to recall, time becomes so slow.
An alley in the old neighborhood.
It is a kind of faint sadness, belonging to the white wall and black tile of that era.
The lost old days, 1943.
Looking back, there was some wind and frost in the clip.
Old turntables, old suitcases.
In an iron box full of postcards.
Hide a rose petal.