Mary is next door
Outside the Hall of Heroes, a long corridor of blessings is laid out, spreading a fiery and splendid atmosphere. Initially, the hall was filled with cheers and extravagant attire, but it disappeared at the beginning.
The gilded riverbed shimmers with glory and sorrow, marking the end of our country's civilization, leaving only loneliness and wild imagination.
The ranger drank his hatred and swore his blood as a sacrifice, while the assassin cast his shadow in the distant wind. He saw the priest break his scepter and thrust it into the center of the aging history.
The black dress belt fluttered and once unparalleled. The minstrels are singing, and Lanling looks like their hometown.
Gods and demons dance and sweep across the battlefield. In the next generation, you look like me. When I was young, I was full of passion and vigor, but from beginning to end, it turned into wind and frost.
Bronze rust mottled badges, lamenting the faith of all beings, the years to come are so long, and we have agreed to forgive.
You once rode the wind, wielded a sword, looked back, taught the sky and the sea to retreat. The wounds you cut from the old calendar are forgotten in the end.
Billions of gods, a vast scroll, painted next to the new calendar totem. In this mortal world, there is no sadness, but tears continue to fall in his eyes.
You once rode the wind, wielded a sword, looked back, taught the sky and the sea to retreat. You mourn the wounds of youth, but in the end, you also wander.
There is no future, no past, and the ruins of rebirth are desolate. A ten year dream, buried overnight, buried on our keyboards.
