mustered up my courage a few times before I finally finished reading them
. Sometimes I inadvertently think of the father inside:
"If you do the right thing in the end, you can't be
brave . If you believe it, what's the point of being a human being?"
This is a word I should admire and often bewildered
that there will be few sweet scenes
because my father's sky is finally dark
as a belated victim, he won't know:
We plundered lessons from the path they lost and
continued to fill their uniforms into
what they still hate to this day
He clearly didn't fit their dentures
though we worked together, even now
in more and more The tedious
talk about myself further asked me
and most importantly, it was time to
have confidence and a lot of money in full and
then came, "Do you want to change me?
I'm just like this world, this world It won't become!"
I don't know if I have the
ability to doubt the world, the swing of my childhood has been swayed again and again
They say we belong to the wrong world
, trying to escape the final reckoning in learning to betray,
especially like mine today
Whether the situation is in the city, in the arms of a woman, or in a cheap student hotel
or in my poor and conceited country corner
I don't know whether to believe in myself or in whom
I can stand where I am, imagining
roads being quietly altered by the ending
So why do so many philosophical cry
can I pretend to be like them and
think it's just a new development in my busy sex life
waiting for the women I love and their company
at the end of that story he cried and stabbed her Qidao:
"Why are you so useless, shameless, stand up quickly..."
That is also our last, but no one is allowed to mess around
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