Bald old man in the mirror, the mirror wondering what was going Yin cover old poetry. Twenty years ago, a stem of white, Today, his head turned to silk. Sok Yin strike back glass of wine, drunk to know flexor index pro. More than my poor old who cheap, Sheshi kept cold and hungry body. I was less than half of a soil, Tomb of the tree has been drawn thirty-five. I am now fortunate enough to see the first white, Paul does not base salary of not less government. Wine in front of the heart is no suffering, only joy substandard sad together.