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岁月是一个城市。一座山是一个谜语。迷雾重重的山叠加在一起,就叫重庆。我的乡村在黎明的镜中隐现。云朵深处,一枚阳光的羽毛在弹奏天空,种植的雨水群山怀抱,一切都发生得那么安静。我在你的经历里完成自己的旅途。月亮如同这蓝色的窗。月亮。月亮。月亮从母亲最初的发际,握住城市的言词。第三个词,就叫野歌。第一个词是母亲,第二个词是疼痛,母亲比疼痛还要纯净。所有活在人间的风,朝不保夕,朝向一个方向。
Years are a city. A mountain is a riddle. Stacked with the foggy mountains, called Chongqing. My country is in the mirror of dawn. Deep in the clouds, a sunshine of feathers playing the sky, growing rain embracing the mountains, everything happened so quiet. I completed my journey in your experience. The moon is like this blue window. moon. moon. The moon took the words of the city from the mother’s first hairline. The third word, called the wild song. The first word is mother, the second word is pain, and mother is purer than pain. All live in the world of wind, precarious, toward one direction.