The trees haven't gone away. grass Still waiting in deep sleep. Wind embraces the windHeavy snow, a pair of fingers that enveloped fateDon't believe you won't be cold or believeThe wilderness can turn green overnightBut you believe that a few strings are combing a clear streamWithout the wake of a snow mountainAll notes will die in an instantTake off gold and put on silverOn the dumb wings, there is always a melody that the eagle flies up