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时光消逝,记忆的甬道中狭长的影子,化作,大门前和屋顶上渐渐凝结的霜迹。落日以最古老最悲壮的方式沉沦,百草千树在残阳的血色光中,静立成为一种默哀。时代退缩到阴冷的一角,落叶化为了秋声,而我们仍不知位置地漂泊,漂泊……梦,是多么的脆弱,轻轻一碰,就变成了传说。如果文字能够保管记忆,时间的另一页必定珍藏着苦难。可是,泪水如泉,哪里是泉眼?苦海无边,回头何处有岸?我们的渔网太疏太脆,打捞不起沉重的内心。
The passage of time, memory of the narrow shadow of the corridor, into the front door and the roof gradually frost condensation. Setting sun to the oldest and most tragic way to sink, a hundred thousand trees in the bloody light of the sun, standing to become a silent. The era of recession to the cold corner, fallen leaves for the autumn sound, and we still do not know the location of wandering, drifting ... ... dream, how fragile, gently touch, it becomes a legend. If the text can be kept in memory, another page of time must be treasured. However, tears, such as spring, where is the spring? Boundless sea, where to go back? Our fishnet is too crisp, can not afford to pay heavy heart.