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雨夜。枯灯。 Rainy night. Dead lights. 我撑着白伞，任凭细雨打在伞上、肩头。 I hold on to the white umbrella, let the drizzle hit on the umbrella, shoulder. 巷头，两边霉得发黑的墙壁，这里恐怕早就没人住了。所以，残墙承载的只有回忆。墙笔直地引出一条路，尽头只有灯下斜织的雨线。雨声中，一阵歌声传来。 At the end of the alley, there are black moldy walls on both sides. I'm afraid no one has lived here for a long time. Therefore, the remnant wall only carries memories. The wall led straight out of a road, with only the rain line woven obliquely under the lamp at the end. In the rain, a song came. 我寻着歌去，踏着被整块石头砌成的路面。这石路不知有多苍老，这一角翘起来，那一角又凹进去，仿佛看得到笨重的马车拉着美丽的姑娘驶过，日复一日。 I'm looking for a song, and I'm walking on the road made of a whole stone. I don't know how old the stone road is. This corner is cocked up, and that corner is concave again. It seems that we can see the heavy carriage driving by the beautiful girl day by day. 雨滴打在石孔里，石洼里，仍能溅起水花。 Raindrops hit in stone holes and hollows, still splashing water. 歌声仿佛是从上方落下来的，抬头，朽烂的木窗被风吹得直摇。雨砸在上面，打散了又掉了下来，朦胧中一位女子出现在楼上，楼却是那么华丽而不失庄重。一个男子在楼下低唱小曲，而楼上，女子只有淡淡的微笑…… | 
