一样的,什么都是一样的与我平常的触击是一样的土还是土,石不是金村庄的名字是流传下来的南下,途径广安,到邓小平纪念园在汽车上让眼睛辗过窗外绿色的地毯挪近,与一个伟人的距离我从门外进去像一滴血游弋在八百三十亩身躯的经络每一步都让我贴在真实的气息像一座帐篷一个声音把 The same, what is the same as my usual strike is the same soil or earth, stone is not the name of the village is passed down the south, the way Guang’an, to Deng Xiaoping Memorial in the car over the window green Near the carpet, a distance from a great man I went in from outside the door like a drop of blood Cruising at the body of a meridian of eight hundred and thirty acres Each step made me stick in a real atmosphere Like a tent a voice