我的玫瑰开在别人园中 方形,迷雾的山丘 三,被命运挑选的数字 仅在午夜的酒光中 横穿迷信的盛宴 火焰升腾,是风筝 而非月亮,月光总会坠落大地 划别海水和眼泪 作弄钟匣的那只手 是你,用一秒,定义须臾 分割危楼,弹拨的愉悦 当然,我们熟悉死亡长廊的 每一块瓷砖,复制粘贴的80厘米 他从无偏差 广播清晰地念出你的名字 刀斧届至,口舌清点着玫瑰花蕾 我们举起酒杯,潦倒度过春日 夏日,唯独少了秋日和冬日 忘了吧忘了吧全都忘了吧 我不能勾勒你的影子歌唱 有我祝福,你的玫瑰永远绽放 阳光透过梧桐树叶 就这样 写你,除了名字
my roses are blooming in a stranger’s garden square, misty hills three, the number chosen by fate crossing a feast of superstition but in the midnight reflections of wine the fire soars, it’s the kite not the moon, moonlight will always descend on earth to distinguish tears from ocean waters the hand that fumbles the clock case was you, defining an instant with a second segmenting dilapidated buildings, from the joy of strumming of course we are no stranger to each tile of the death corridor, the eighty centimetres copy and pasted he’s never deviated the broadcast spells your name clearly the axes are imminent, tongues are counting the rosebuds we are raising glasses, spending springs and summers in abjection, except autumns and winters oh forget about it, forget all about it now i can’t sketch out your chanting shadow with my blessings, your roses will always bloom sunshine pierces through sycamore leaves just like this to write about you, without a name