这南国阴霾的天许是很久未曾哭泣过了。只是来得太突然,惊恐了一群秋冬的黄叶,浸染了归途人的心间。枯树老鸦。秋雨缠绵,溢满了秋池。只是,谁来共剪西窗烛？这南疆的土地,远行在泥泞中的人儿,一漂泊天涯的异乡游子。这世间人来人往,红尘滚滚,在这秋雨都已寂静,寂静在声声叹息中,寂静在流浪二胡的悠长上,寂静在这无边的苦寂的前方。秋雨静静地落在岁月里,岁月在湿润中遗失。纵使曾经年少痴狂,总想仗剑行天涯,只得在岁月中熬成白发枯灯走天涯; The promise of this southern country has not been cried for a long time. Just came too suddenly, panicking a group of yellow leaves in autumn and winter, dipping into the hearts of returnees. Dead tree crows. Autumn rain lingering, full of autumn pool. But who will cut the west window candle? This land in southern Xinjiang is far away from the people in the mud, a wandering stranger in the horizon. People in the world are coming and going, the red dust is rolling, and in this autumn the rain is all still. The silence is in a sigh. The stillness lies in the long distance of the wandering erhu. It is still in front of this endless bitterness. Autumn rain fell quietly in the years, years lost in the wet. Even though he was young and mad, he always wanted to make his way to the end of the world.