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外链地址
http://www.eemp3.com/audiofile/5dbb14628c313778aa362121ac8ca9c9.mp3
点击复制The old locust tree at the village entrance dressed in autumn gold
Who’s waiting sleeping in its rings
I step on withered leaves wandering down the stone slab path
Grandma’s porridge fragrance drifts in the wind
The bamboo chair at the door rocking back and forth
Rocking the sunset to sleep rocking in the stars
She always said days are like sweet well water
Scoop slowly then they’re long enough
Later I left with a canvas bag
Locust flowers fell and bloomed again never stopping
Her voice on the phone getting softer and softer
Said the spot by the door is still kept for me
This Qingming I stand under the tree again
New sprouting branches caress against my cheek
The bamboo chair’s empty the porridge fragrance faded
Only the wind still telling the words from that year
Later I left with a canvas bag
Locust flowers fell and bloomed again never stopping
Her voice on the phone getting softer and softer
Said the spot by the door is still kept for me
The old locust tree still guards the village entrance
Like an old man lingering stubbornly
I bury my longing into the soil
Waiting for next year to grow a new spring and autumn
Later I left with a canvas bag
Locust flowers fell and bloomed again never stopping
Her voice on the phone getting softer and softer
Said the spot by the door is still kept for me