一种结束了的世界,就像忽然倒下的老树,引来好多的哭泣。胸膛是羊皮鼓,被捶打的声音是一枚劳累的流星,睡左的男人,还没有忘记腾出右手准备刀枪,右睡的女人,依然举起捻羊毛的坠子。一条黑色的河流,淹没了心酸的泪水,多情善感的彝人,就这样反复着千古不变的悲哀。堆积成山峰一样的牛头,在显示愚昧和骄傲,那些还活着的人在为将自己而死的牛们担忧,他们在仗量自己剩下的日子,毕摩念诵的指路经。浸泡在女人的泪水里,湿润了所有的彝人味,这是结束也是开始,朝着阳光 An end of the world, like a fallen old tree, attracted a lot of crying. Chest is a sheepskin drum, beating the sound is a tired meteor, sleeping left man, have not forgotten to make the right hand to prepare a knife and knife, the right to sleep the woman, still lifted the twisting wool twist. A black river, submerged sad tears, sentimental and Yi people, so repeated the same eternal sorrow. Piles of mountain-like ox heads show ignorance and pride, and those who are still alive are concerned about the cattle who died for themselves, who are biding their way through the rest of the day. Soaked in a woman’s tears, moist all the Yi flavor, which is the end is the beginning, toward the sun