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As people get older, they tend to become nostalgic; I’d also like to recommend a song

2019-06-12View Original

Thread Content

Childhood – Lyrics by Liu Haolin; Music by Tang Yingfeng; Arrangement by Zhao Er; Producer: Liu Haolin; Supervisor: Tang Yingfeng; Recorder: Tang Yingfeng; Mixer: Li You; Mastering/Mixing Engineer: Li You; Guitar: Hu Yang; Piano: Zhao Er; Harmony Arrangement: Liu Haolin; Vocals: Liu Haolin; Art Design/Cover Art: kidult.; Distribution: Kuyusi Studio. Chasing the sunset barefoot beside the railway tracks, glass beads in an iron box, hero cards, playing with rubber bands, hiding under stone bridges… Grandma knitting shoes again in the courtyard, a basketball hoop in front of the iron gate, ginkgo trees, thatched cottages – could there be people living there? Playing and laughing on the path home from school, the sound of water flowing between the fields… We grow up day by day. In sweet dreams, there’s the white rabbit with sticky teeth; we also imagine ourselves as fairy scientists. Mud stains on the white walls, simple drawings… We keep growing up as the seasons change. The old sycamore trees sprout new leaves; there are treasures hidden in the sand piles. Long benches form a home for us; time seems to pass incredibly slowly. Leaves cover the pond; we move to a new house, with a 20-inch color TV and a leather sofa. At 5:30 p.m., the windmill spins. After dinner, we enjoy the cool breeze. On starry nights, fireflies are visible; the breeze bends the crescent moon. Adults talk about things we can’t understand; ghosts hide under the beds. We keep growing up. There’s rain that never stops in our memories; the sound of cicadas fills the air during the summer vacation. It’s time to cut our hair again at the start of a new school year. We keep growing up, and we begin to long for changes. We used to think we were so great; we wrote poems but didn’t dare give them to her. We keep growing up. Listening to tapes, encountering someone in a white shirt under the banyan tree at dusk, a guitar in hand… Our youthful faces… We still thought we were so great; we wrote poems but didn’t dare give them to her. Those little poems… we didn’t dare give them to her

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