No Tittle

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I complain about the cold of winter,

the heat of summer, including the palm of your hand,

without the slightest temperature,

and then it doesn't matter if everything is afraid,

just like when the world adores your youth, adoring your beauty, hypocrisy or sincerity,

There is only one person who loves the soul of your pilgrim,

loves the sad composition on your old face, all can be abandoned and ignore me,

there is you only wish you youth forever

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