You
Not a descendant of Chinese dragon
If you were
You would be a hybrid of two animal species
You
Are not a child of Yellow River, either
Yellow River has been drying up at the foot of Great Wall of China
Now what flows
Is a vomit from Qinghai-Tibet Plateau
Creating no life
You
Should be even less a posterity of ancient Chinese
An internecine nationality
That has already killed up all the integrity and spirit
Where is the brightness across million kilometers
What is a civilization of five thousand years
You are you
Also drinking White Liquor
The blown smoke ring also has a dream
Climbing up
I can also lie on a slate of bluestone
Having the bones pile into a statue
And having its eye pits drawn as a symbol of death
To tell people
There is no way out
I may also sneak into the crowd
Chewing gum
Wandering around
Casting a glance the bare legs of that girl
Making eyes
And appearing to have touched a plump ass
With a look of satisfaction
But, buddy!
I know
Remaining legs and broken arms at Liubukou were also plump
Oh! My eyes are soaked with blood
Gripping my head to hit against a street lamppost
I
Have
Cried
Girl, forgive my vulgarity
This world
Is a grave of wise men
Sense
Sense is still there
But just like a fickle girl
Having already altered her face
Tiananmen Square
Has lightly turned into a pile of floating redness
The marble balustrades of the Monument
After the focus in the distant
Are numerous eyes burned through
The heavy bricks and stones on the Square
Are various sampans sinking down
Which can no longer afford to bear the despair and sorrow of Chinese people
Sense can no longer be gripped
It is pieces of paper flying in wind
That a group of ragpicking children are chasing
Black
Night
Has been pulled very, very long
You have never smoked
Holding your hands I want to say
Whichever way may be
Unable to lead us going until tomorrow
Yet you have turned night around
It is a girl with big eyes
Holding her shattered skull
My God! That look
Has made me sleepless in my life
If I have still got any impulse
I would hug the sexy foot of the girl
Tightly against my chest
If there still is a dream
Do not be by Lake Ontario
Counting all of the gray hairs
If still palpitating with eagerness
Run up the National Tower
Let the storm wash away the sadness in heart
Since then, the blush is no longer due to shyness
My long flying hair
Is furious black
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