我不能让他的眼神继续悲伤。吏这个词会一直存在。飓风累了的时候,能否有一朵浪花属于温柔?海水深深,淹没人类中那些恶的,把一只小舟给予暴风雨中浮游在海面的渔夫。地面上的事件,蝙蝠在暗中飞成老鹰。他们不知道太阳下天空的胸怀,他们鼠目寸光,翅膀搅拌着黑,很久以前的一个诗人给这些小凶神取名为吏,有一个地方叫石壕,故事不好,它让我泪流满面。让我无法控制仇恨的人不在眼前的画中,恶吏没有资格与画一起出名。是这位老叟,白发苍苍,皱纹里有多少绝望的悲 I can not let his eyes continue sad. The word official will always exist. When the hurricane was tired, could a spray be gentle? The sea was deep and submerged in the wickedness of mankind, giving a small boat to a fisherman who floated on the sea in a storm. Ground events, the bats fly into the dark Eagle. They did not know the mind of the sky under the sun. They were short-sighted and their wings were stirring black. A poet long ago named the lesser gods officials. There was a place called a stone moat. The story was not good. It made me burst into tears. Let the people I can not control the hatred are not in front of the picture, evil officials are not qualified to draw well known. Is the old woman, gray-haired, how many despair in the wrinkles of sadness