July Sen died near the river
Go to the ancient look of pink lips
I followed the stranger to the north
Leave yourself with some lines
Waited for several years
Watch the rumors of the spring
Love in the outside is shy
I go to the moss where I lie
I swing back rowing travel
Luggage carry nothing
Number seven from the bitter rancid
Want to meet the old man sent mail
My old fears of love die
Cup of tea still stay still
Duyen you still but forget it
We are still waiting for the glass.
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