我在危险的路上常想纯洁的老去。我在永远没有身份的野外,以一双阅读的眼睛阅读。我走向风景,我已成为风景中的人。我如同破碎的玻璃,毫无价值。每天我去山上漫步与人低语,与陌生美丽的女子像两滴雨亲密。然后各自离开,像一场空气蒸发的水滴。来自远方的香气,在若有若无中如一棵停止生长的树。我每天必须在寒冷中走很远,在一条小街上与某某告别,并奇怪地觉得空虚。我们失掉了从古老的故乡带来的一切。我们纯朴的美德如我们的行李箱、雨伞、身上的衣 I often want pure old way on the dangerous road. I read in the eyes of a pair of reading eyes in the wild without identity. I went to the landscape, I have become a landscape. I am like broken glass, worthless. Every day I go to the mountains to walk and whisper, with two strange drops of rain like a beautiful woman intimate. Then leave, like an air-evaporated water droplets. Aroma from afar, if there is nothing like a tree to stop growing. I have to go far in the cold every day, bid farewell to a certain one in a small street, and strangely feel emptiness. We have lost everything brought from the old hometown. Our simple virtues such as our luggage, umbrellas, body clothing