May the arms of sorrow.
Sigh the years, several rounds of fame and fortune, several rounds of trouble.
Tired many many vicissitudes, the number of twilight reversed.
For this moment, the plot difficult to sweep worry.
No wonder, then new words and Lyric Writing, always a, desolately sickly tone.
people tired, things difficult.
Azeri mirror the old bear.
fine thoughts, is a non-yeah yeah? who knows? can not sleep soundly
Baigan cross indeed, since the drunk from the Yin, smiling.
vaguely see, according to the morning flow.
little children who do not understand earthly suffering, startling frequently reported by pregnant,
that out the window, a good shade .
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