-

People who love the night are not only lonely, idle and unable to fight, but also afraid of the light.

People's words and deeds are often different during the day and in the middle of the night, in the sun and in front of the lights. Night is a mysterious garment woven by nature, covering all people and making them warm and comfortable. Unconsciously, they gradually took off their artificial masks and clothes and wrapped them naked in this endless black flocculant.

Although it is night, there is light and shade. Very dim, very dim, invisible, dark and messy. People who love the night should have ears to listen to the night and eyes to see the night, be free in the dark and see everything in the dark. Gentlemen walked into the darkroom from the electric light and stretched out; The lover walked into the shade from the moonlight and changed a pair of eyes. The arrival of the night obliterates all the detached, confused, sudden, furious and blushing articles written by scholars on dazzling white paper in broad daylight, leaving only the night wind of begging, flattering, lying, cheating, bragging and playing tricks, forming a brilliant golden aperture, like what I saw in Buddhist paintings, shrouded in my mind with extraordinary knowledge.

Those who love the night can receive the light given by the night.

The modern girl in high heels walks briskly under the electric light of the road, but there is a little oil sweat on her nose, which proves that she is a beginner in fashion. If she grows up in bright light, she will encounter the fate of "decline" The darkness of a row of shops with closed doors slowed her down and she took a breath. At this time, she felt the cool breeze at night.

People who love the night and modern girls, so at the same time, they are favored by the night.

When the night is over, people get up carefully and come out. Even couples are different from before five or six o'clock. Since then, it has been lively and lively here. Behind the high wall, in the middle of the building, in the boudoir, in the dungeon, in the guest room, in the secret organ, there is still amazing and really big darkness.

Now in broad daylight, it is this dark decoration, the golden lid on the sauce jar of human flesh, and the vanishing cream on the face. Only night is honest. I love the night, and I write night carols at night.

1933, June 8