权力,带毒的利剑现在可以肯定,我们用上半生寻找的信仰,在祖宗们留下的道白里,开始残损,破碎。尽露悲鸣,永远泯灭。持剑的人,无论高矮胖瘦、真假黑白,总是操着那种无法揉碎的腔调,像山谷里野狼的嘶叫,迂回曲折却找不到一个标点。多少人,背朝故乡,跪地而求。渴望构筑起他们内心的舞台。那种虔诚,仿佛一个地方的宗教。悬崖、镣铐、子弹、绞刑架、鲜红的血……清洗着利剑上隐秘的指纹。无论怎样揣摩,生命都蜷伏于高崖绝壁,一个巨大的空虚,把他们的内心占满。顶礼膜拜的人,沽酒而醉?前辈的忠告,在燃烧的欲望里,荡然无存。仅有的道 Power and Poisoned Swords Now it is certain that the faith we seek in the first half of the year begins to be mutilated and broken in the Taoist line left behind by our ancestors. Delusional, never go away. Swordsman, regardless of tall and thin, black and white, true and false, always manipulate the kind of can not crush the accent, like the wolf in the valley neighing, twists and turns can not find a punctuation. How many people, back to their hometown, kneeling and seeking. Desire to build their inner stage. Kind of religious, as if a place of religion. Cliffs, shackles, bullets, gallows, red blood ... ... clean the hidden fingerprints on the sword. No matter how try to figure out, life is crouched in the cliff, a huge emptiness, their hearts filled. Worship those who worship, selling wine and drunk? Senior advice, in the burning desire, gone. The only way