Night flowers, full of stars, I did not look.
Now take disability, Star still, I regret. Xiao composition network
Yin thin wind, rain dance elegant, red incense off elimination. Xiao composition network
Lost, love of the, waiting for my dream flowers.
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Suddenly began to miss the flowers. Pink cherry, blue gentian, violaceum lavender, from near and far, far extended to the end of the sky. I walk a lonely child, thin along this road, smelling the fragrance of flowers, pour love in the shadow behind the cover of the past. Head is swirling cherry blossoms gorgeous, the hand is quiet and secluded gentian worry, beside the pale lavender gentle melancholy, and I like a butterfly, lost here. Luanhong fly swing to, any act Luo Qing Han, I speak, leaning dangerous queue, Yin thin air.
I have seen the flowers can not remember when, and only vaguely remember the plot of an extension to the horizon brightly colored. Flowers, its beautiful! I like a pilgrimage of people, their devotion to her flowers, eyes closed, hands clasped together, wash and wash his soul. I heard the flowers were smiling, laughing so happy, laughter as sweet as silver bells.
Childhood, a childhood! That I am innocent, that under the dim lights, I stop, that stunning flowers in the rain, I wait for another return.
I walk a lonely child, forget the foot of the thin road, longing for the fragrance of flowers, pour love in the shadow behind the cover of the past.
Breakdown of the rope knot, breakdown of every day, times the shadow map on the wall, thrown a layer of pale yellow, yellow is the old photo is the yellow pages of old books, is engraved with the childhood yellow. Time the footprints left on the wall, leave my childhood at the foot of the stairs, do not come back.
I was a butterfly, lost in the sky, fly quietly.
Who is flying in the wind holding me? This hands are so warm.
Who led me to fly in the rain? This sound is so soft.
Who, who, let me so nostalgic, do not want to fly again?
I was a lost in time in the butterfly, flapping wings good, with a gentle look. Forget the spring flowers, forget the summer tide. I fly, but the sea, can not wait Kuwata, hear the splash splashing spring. In time and memory, I forget the road, deviate from the beacon.
Flowers, the door opened, the ears are long forgotten melody. The wind is blowing to ripple the pond, blowing dance a Fangfei.
