Are the deities in the mountains
Really having a feast of peaches
Even as I burn midnight oil by the curtains
A ray flew by but it's the chalk of my teacher's
Look I am only having a gander
Charmed by the gleam of her tresses
Hemorrhagic Wulin is in uproar over Dragon Saber
Idiom of an inch of time is an inch of gold laces
Length of my ear flips out from the other
Detecting the start of quarreling voices
Hurry to hide in clanks of fighting swords under table
Only not from goose egg and cane lashes
On to battles my green plastic soldiers march
Do I yearn to grow up in every March
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