That year we came to the top of a small mountain
The top of the mountain with thick rain
You fly into spring
We go into the poem with deep image
You say I'm like a poetic raindrop
Gently floating on your red dimple
Ah, I've been drunk several times
I've been drunk several times
This year I come to your door again
You just use soft black eyes
Say sorry quietly
There is no spring in this season
ah
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