Chapter 8 Piccolo

The soul is back, mother, the east cannot stay long, The tropical sea where typhoons are born, The pressure in the North Pacific is very low in July. The soul is back, mother, you can't stay in the south for long, The one-way street of the Sun train The equator in July moxibustion on the soles of the feet of pedestrians. The soul is back, mother, you can't stay in the north for long, The white kingdom of the reindeer, In July there is no Sabbath, only day. The soul is back, mother, you can't stay in a foreign country for long. The little urn dreams by the floor-to-ceiling windows,

Accompanied by the little plants you planted by hand. Come back, mother, to guard your small town after the fire. When spring comes, I will walk on the wet and cold Qingming Road, I will bury you in a small grave in my hometown. I will bury you in Jiangnan, a small town in Jiangnan. The weeping willow's hair hangs down to your grave, When spring comes, you will be a girl's dream, Dream about your mother. And on the road to Qingming, mother, my footprints will be deep, The long hair of the willow is dripping with rain, mother, dripping with my memory, The soul is back, mother, come and guard this empty city in all directions.