You walk without a trace I act without the slightest trace

In September, the middle part of a cycle of seasons, the mood is necessarily complicated mess, like a chuanjiangnan tobacco, tracts, hills into green-yellow eye could not always, shining in the Sun, splash hurts my eyes from time to time. I'm just going to let my youth in the Palm of one's displaced every day. I've left my heart in the summer, those belonging to the departure time. Only notebook that warm warmth watching we have memories.
You walk without a trace, I act without the slightest trace, defended the solitary proud heart, not far from bothering. Watching the last piece of blue sky was submerged by white cloud, and went so far as can be so frank. No pain, no frustration. I think they really grown up a lot, no longer is that because you have lost or are not crying little girl.
In autumn, there is no spring the wonderful charming, but between four, and between the snow and ice, tranquil and bright, reflecting the golden wheat fields, you, I am bright eyes, tanned face of farmers ' uncle beam, which may be the carrot still slowly disappearing into the distance of the train.
In September, the middle part of a cycle of seasons, the mood is necessarily complicated mess, like a chuanjiangnan tobacco, tracts, hills into green-yellow eye could not always, shining in the Sun, splash hurts my eyes from time to time. I'm just going to let my youth in the Palm of one's displaced every day Tera Gold. I've left my heart in the summer, those belonging to the departure time. Only notebook that warm warmth watching we have memories.
You walk without a trace, I act without the slightest trace, defended the solitary proud heart, not far from bothering. Watching the last piece of blue sky was submerged by white cloud, and went so far as can be so frank. No pain, no frustration. I think they really grown up a lot, no longer is that because you have lost or are not crying little girl.
In autumn, there is no spring the wonderful charming, but between four, and between the snow and ice, tranquil and bright, reflecting the golden wheat fields, you, I am bright eyes, tanned face of farmers ' uncle beam, which may be the carrot still slowly disappearing into the distance of the train.

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