一切
一切都是命运
一切都是烟云
一切都是没有结局的开始
一切都是稍纵即逝的追寻
一切欢乐都没有微笑
一切苦难都没有泪痕
一切语言都是重复
一切交往都是初逢
一切爱情都在心里
一切往事都在梦中
一切希望都带着注释
一切信仰都带着呻吟
一切爆发都有片刻的宁静
一切死亡都有冗长的回声
All of everything
Everything is fate
Everything is smoke
Everything is the beginning with no ending
Everything is a fleeting quest
All the joys are without smiles
All the sufferings are without tears
All the words are to be repeated
All the acquaintance are newly met
All the loves are in the heart
All the past are in the dream
All the hopes are with remarks
All the faiths are with groaning
All outburst will have a moment's peace
All deaths will have a lengthy echo l
1.你好，百花山
1.你好，百花山
琴声飘忽不定，
捧在手中的雪花微微震颤。
当阵阵迷雾退去，
显出旋律般起伏的山峦。
我收集过四季的遗产
山谷里，没有人烟。
采摘下的野花继续生长，
开放，那是死亡的时间。
沿着原始森林的小路，
绿色的阳光在缝隙里流窜。
一只红褐色的苍鹰，
用鸟语翻译这山中恐怖的谣传。
我猛地喊了一声：
“你好，百---花---山---“
“你好，孩---子---“
回音来自遥远的瀑涧
那是风中之风，
使万物应和，骚动不安。
我喃喃低语，
手中的雪花飘进深渊。
Hello, Hundred Flowers Mountain
There is erratic music in the air,
The snowflakes in my hands tremble slightly.
When the bursts of fog have receded,
Showing the rhythm of the rolling hills.
I have collected over the inheritance of the Four Seasons
In the valley, there is no signs of human habitation.
Picking wild flowers which will continue to growth,
To blossom and open, it is the time of death.
Along the jungle paths,
The green sunlight leaking in the gaps.
A reddish-brown goshawk,
Translating the terror rumors in the mountain by his voice.
I suddenly shouted:
"Hello, Hundred----- Flowers ---- Mountain--- "
"Hello, children --- children ---"
There is echo from the distant waterfalls and streams
It was the wind in the winds,
So that all things should respond and be unrest.
I muttered softly to myself,
Snowflakes in my hands floated into the abyss.
琴声飘忽不定，
捧在手中的雪花微微震颤。
当阵阵迷雾退去，
显出旋律般起伏的山峦。
我收集过四季的遗产
山谷里，没有人烟。
采摘下的野花继续生长，
开放，那是死亡的时间。
沿着原始森林的小路，
绿色的阳光在缝隙里流窜。
一只红褐色的苍鹰，
用鸟语翻译这山中恐怖的谣传。
我猛地喊了一声：
“你好，百---花---山---“
“你好，孩---子---“
回音来自遥远的瀑涧
那是风中之风，
使万物应和，骚动不安。
我喃喃低语，
手中的雪花飘进深渊。
Hello, Hundred Flowers Mountain
There is erratic music in the air,
The snowflakes in my hands tremble slightly.
When the bursts of fog have receded,
Showing the rhythm of the rolling hills.
I have collected over the inheritance of the Four Seasons
In the valley, there is no signs of human habitation.
Picking wild flowers which will continue to growth,
To blossom and open, it is the time of death.
Along the jungle paths,
The green sunlight leaking in the gaps.
A reddish-brown goshawk,
Translating the terror rumors in the mountain by his voice.
I suddenly shouted:
"Hello, Hundred----- Flowers ---- Mountain--- "
"Hello, children --- children ---"
There is echo from the distant waterfalls and streams
It was the wind in the winds,
So that all things should respond and be unrest.
I muttered softly to myself,
Snowflakes in my hands floated into the abyss.
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