Drinking alone in the autumn, drunk in my heart, lying on the lap of a beautiful woman, just for your smile, writing a few lines of light, promising three thousand flowers, also ruthless, the snow on the street is like smoke, and my eyebrows are parting, drunk and dyed red, the river is like fireflies. One song after another, I sighed and smiled, thinking about the beautiful woman. I was drunk, thinking about the beauty, and thinking about the past. I was in ecstasy, the moon was heartbroken, the beauty was in love, it was late, the sky was snowing, plain clothes, the wind and dust sighed, turned around, tears fell into the sea, as shallow as pear blossoms, laughed in the old summer, fell into a dream, held hands in the breeze, black hair turned white, drank wine A few pots of returning cranes, hearing of the faraway guests, drunkenness, thinking about beauty, why does it comfort lovesickness? An old friend sings a farewell poem. Who can listen to the warm green lamp in the palm of the hand, accompanied by the ancient Buddhist city. The southern flowers have bloomed, waking up the people in the dream.