五月的夏天,只有记忆是潮湿的。我们不是植物,不能在这块土地上生生不息。青春在窗外的风中飘逝了。玻璃做的风筝摔下来,发出最后短暂的呼救声。谁来救我们呢?水瓶躺在墙角,布满灰尘。快要走了,没人那样勤奋,跑到水房去打水,宁可渴着。床头那个明星帅哥的笑容已经苍白,像枯萎的忘忧草。房间里还是那首令人心烦意乱的老歌,劣质的声音,快要唱不动的样子。毕业论文上的字,像蚂蚁,各自爬回自己的家。我们或留下或离开,这座城市,我们呆了四 The summer of May, only the memory is wet. We are not plants, we can not live on this land. Youth wandered through the wind outside the window. Kite made of glass fell off, issued the last short help cry. Who will save us? The water bottle is lying on the corner, covered with dust. Almost gone, no one so hard, went to the water room to draw water, would rather thirst. That star handsome guy bedside smile has been pale, like withered wilt grass. The room is still the heart of the distraught song, poor voice, almost singing the same way. Graduation thesis words, like ants, each crawling back to their home. We stayed or left, this city, we stayed for four